UC-NRLF 


B    3    3EM    Mbfi 


THE 


AMERICAN  LOUNGER; 


TALES,  SKETCHES,  AND  LEGENDS 


GATHERED  IN  SUNDRY  JOURiVEYINGS. 


BY 


THE  AUTHOR  OF  "  LAFITTE,"  &c. 


PHILADELPHL\: 

LEA    &    BLANCHARD, 

SUCCESSORS  TO  CAREY  &  CO. 


1839. 


Entered  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1839,  by 
Lea  &  Blanchard  as  proprietors,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the 
District  Court  for  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


Philadelphia: 

T.  K.  &  P.  G.  Collins,  Printers, 

No.  1  Lodge  Alley. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

My  Lodgings, 15 

The  Romance  of  Broadway, 25 

Sights  from  my  Window, 35 

Yankee  Aristocracy,     ------.-45 

The  Kelpie  Rock,  or  Undercliff, 59 

The  Mysterious  Leaper, 79 

The  Last  of  the  Whips,  Part  I. 89 

The  Last  of  the  Whips,  Part  II. 101 

The  Illegitimate, 113 

The  Snow  Pile, 131 

An  Essay  on  Canes, 145 

The  Black  Patch, 159 

The  Student,  Part  I.             173 

The  Student,  Part  II. 181 

The  Student,  Part  III. -  201 

The  Student,  Part  IV. 211 

The  Student,  Part  V. -     -        -  217 

Spheeksphobia, -.  223 

The  Cluadroon  of  Orleans, 255 


iviilGOSa 


«> 


t 


NOTE    BY    THE    AUTHOR 


The  absence  of  the  Author  m  the  South  during 
the  progress  of  the  following  pages  through  the  press, 
will,  it  is  hoped,  be  received  as  an  excuse  for  rather 
an  unusual  number  of  typographical  errors  contained 
in  them. 

Philadelphia,  June,  1839. 


TO 


N.    P.    WILLIS,    Esq 


OF 


GL  ENM  AR Y. 


MY    LODGINGS, 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  READER, 


MY    LODGINGS 


I  AM  a  bachelor,  dear  reader !  This  I  deem  neces- 
sary to  premise,  lest,  peradventure,  regarding  me  as 
one  of  that  class  whose  fate  is  sealed, 

"  As  if  the  genius  of  their  stars  had  writ  it,'* 

you  should  deem  me  traitor  to  my  sworn  alliance. 
For  what  has  a  Benedict  to  do  with  things  out  of  the 
window,  when  his  gentle  wife — (what  sweet  phra- 
seology this  last!  How  prettily  it  looks  printed!)  his 
"  gentle  wife"  with  her  quiet  eye,  her  sewing  and 
rocking  chair  on  one  side,  and  his  duplicates  or  tripli- 
cates, in  the  shape  of  a  round  chunk  of  a  baby,  fat  as 
a  butter-ball;  two  or  three  roguish  urchins  with  tops 
and  wooden  horses,  and  a  fawn-like,  pretty  daughter 
of  some  nine  years,  with  her  tresses  adov/n  her  neck, 
and  a  volume  of  Miss  Edgworth's  "Harry and  Lu- 
cy" in  her  hand,  which  she  is  reading  by  the  fading 
twilight — demand  and  invite  his  attention  on  the 
other. 

No,  my  dear  reader,  I  am  not  married!     If  I  were, 


16  THE  AMrRICA.N  LOUNGER. 


I  should  have  brief  leisure  to  gaze  by  tlie  hour  from 
roy  dot  ma  ni  vvindow.  Dormant  window !  Thereby 
hangs  a  tale  I  Not  ona  only,  but  many  tales;  vide 
the  "  Lives  of  the  Poets.'^  If  I  had  hinted  in  the 
beginning,  that  my  dormitory  was  lighted  by  a  dor- 
mant window,  it  would  sufficiently  have  indicated  to 
the  sagacious  reader  my  peculiar  state.  To  him  or 
her  not  initiated  in  all  the  mysteries  appertaining  to 
localities  in  great  cities,  and  the  "  ways  and  means" 
whereby  single  gentlemen  manage  to  keep  the  grim 
enemy  at  bay,  I  will  merely  hint  that  dormant  windows 
are  sacred  to  us  single  gentlemen,  particularly  to 
poets  and  certain  fundless  members  of  the  literati. 
They  are  situate  on  the  roof,  protruding  above  it  like 
the  rampant  nasal  organ  of  the  Knight  of  La  INIancha, 
from  the  plane  of  his  grave  physiognomy,  himself 
recumbent,  and  the  barber's  brazen  basm  upon  his 
sconce.  The  apartment  to  which  they  admit  the  hght 
of  heaven  is  called  the  attick — certainly  a  most  classi- 
cal appellation — but  in  vulgar  parlance  it  is  degrad- 
ingly  ycleped  "  a  garret."  I  always  hold  a  preference 
for  att'icks  and  dormant  windows.  I  do  not  thereby 
mean  to  challenge  the  inference  naturally  deducible 
from  this  confession,  that  considerations  unworthy  of 
the  minds  of  Croesus,  Girard,  or  Astor,  had  aught  to 
do  with  my  choice.  No,  courteous  loiterer — whether 
of  needle  or  cigar — over  this  page,  I  beg  you  will 
not  for  a  moment  harbor  such  an  uncharitable  sus- 
picion. That  a  room  in  an  attick  draws  more  tenderly 
and  considerately  upon  the  purses  of  single  lodgers, 
cannot  be  denied.  I  prefer  an  attick  for  many  good 
and  weighty  reasons.  A  basement  is  too  low — too 
low,  hterally  and  figuratively.  It  is  base  both  nomin- 
ally and  literally.  ^It  is,  nevertheless,  convenient  to 
the  street  and  to' the  kitchen!  But  I  eschew  this  domi- 
ciliary subdivision  altogether.  Four  feet  lower  than 
the  pave!  It  is  associated  too  intimately  with  our 
last  abiding-place.      I  cannot  abide   the  basement. 


MY  LODGINGS.  17 

The  attick  is  cheaper!  The  mst  •  Hour,"  as  it  is  called 
by  way  of  fashionable  .misnomer,  is,  of  course,  ^unat- 
tainable. In  all  the  d\yellinp:s'. in  Gothaui,  this  "  flat,*' 
as  it  is  likewise  denominated,  is  appropriated  to  draw- 
ing-room and  parlour.  Couch  or  laver  never  dese- 
crates its  precincts;  for  here  stand  the  long,  polish- 
ed dining-table,  the  eighteen  chairs,  the  carpet,  piano, 
centre-rable,  looking-glasses,  and  sideboard  of  the  es- 
tablishment. Reader,  this  floor  of  two  rooms,  sepa- 
rate or  made  one  by  folding  doors  intervening,  is 
sacred  to  the  god  who  presides  over  eating.  His  name, 
if  there  be  such  a  heathenish  deity  set  down  in  Tooke's 
Pantheon,  has  slipped  from  my  memory,  or  I  would 
give  it  you. 

The  second  floor,  so  called,  which  is  properly  the 
third,  (but  modern  language  is  not  used  to  express,  but 
merely  to  suggest  ideas,)  is  still  more  sacred  than  the 
last.  It  contains  sleeping-rooms — and  withal,  sleeping- 
rooms  containing  double  beds.  You  can  see,  compas- 
sionate reader,  with  "  half  an  eye,"  (as  the  speculators 
in  Wall  street  say,  in  pointing  out  natural  beauties, 
invisible  to  two  whole  ones,  when  they  would  sell 
estates  on  paper,) — with  half  an  eye,  my  dear  reader, 
you  can  see  that  this  floor,  thus  qualified,  is  no  cara- 
vansary for  a  single  gentleman.  I  yet  aspire  to  such 
a  room!  The  third  floor  is  the  legitimate  dormitory 
of  the  '^single-hearted,"  provided  always  a  fourth 
floor  intervene  not  between  this  and  the  gar —  attick^ 
I  would  say.  But  this  floor  hath  this  objection;  it  is 
habitually  and  pertinaciously,  in  all  houses  in  Man- 
hattan, honey-combed;  desperately  cut  up  and  parti- 
tioned ofl"  in  the  merest  slips,  that  fit  a  man  almost  as 
closely  as  his  coffin.  They  contain,  by  actual  ap- 
praisement, a  narrow  laver-stand,  one  chair,  and  a  cot- 
bed,  so  narrow  that  one  would  apprehend  a  fall  if  he 
moved  in  his  sleep,  were  he  not  comfortably  assured 
of  the  impossibility  of  such  an  adventure,  after  taking 
a  second  glance  at  the  friendly  proximity  of  the  two 

2* 


18  .  ,  .     ,        THi;  A^IERICAN  LOUNGER. 

sides  of  ttie  roam.  -I'like  a  roomy  room.  Such  boxes 
arj6,  not  rocm&j  <^th^re  is  nqa'op;n  in  them.  Perversion 
of  is^iigim^e  thus  ta  term  Uiemj  seven  by  nines  as  they 
are!  It  was  in  May  I  sought  rooms.  We  changed 
our  lodgings  every  May  morning  in  this  city,  distant 
reader,  as  regularly  as  our  grandsires  did  their  ruffled 
bosoms,  which,  in  those  tidy  days,  was  every  other 
morning.  Now,  Heaven  save  the  mark !  if  ive  change 
once  in  a  week,  Ave  do,  we  think,  sufficient  homage  to 
the  spirit  of  Brummel!  Dickies  obtain,  as  the  law- 
yers phrase  it,  in  these  degenerate  days!  But  I  am 
becoming  digressive,  and  episodical,  for  which  I  crave 
your  indulge'nce,  kind  reader.  1  was  seeking  lodgings 
of  a  fine  May  morning  in  a ''  genteel  private  boarding- 
house.'^   I  had  completed  my  survey  of  the  third  story. 

"  Have  you  another  floor  above  this?''  I  inquired 
of  the  pretty — (I  am  very  susceptible  of  pretty  faces) 
— Jille  de  chamhre. 

She  looked  at  me  steadily  and  anxiously  for  a  mo- 
ment, inspecting  me  from  the  apex  of  my  cranium  to 
the  slightly,  very  slightly,  worn  toes  of  my  boots. 
My  habiliments,  constituted  of  a  black  satin  hat,  ironed 
that  very  morning,  for  the  ninth  time,  and  all  the 
whitish  places,  renewed  whh  ink,  so  that  it  shone  like 
silk.  It  was  presentable,  or  at  least  I  felt  myself  to 
be  so  in  it.  Her  eyes  lingered  over  it  for  an  instant, 
and,  as  I  thought,  approvingly,  before  she  replied, 
and  then,  dropped  to  my  stock,  vest,  and  bosom.  The 
first  bore  the  scrutiny  with  confidence ;  it  was  of  silk 
velvet,  and  only  slightly  defaced.  The  vest  was  of 
Valencia,  and  worn  a  trifle  about  the  pockets,  from  the 
protrusion  of  sundry  pennies,  and  a  penknife.  Thes,3 
dilapidations  were,  however,  invisible.  My  black 
broadcloth  coat,  very  opportunely  buttoned  by  the 
second  button,  concealed  it.  My  shirt  bosom  passed 
well;  yet  she  cast  her  eye  down  to  see  if  I  had  wrist- 
bands. I  put  my  hands  gravely  behind  me.  Her  in- 
ventory of  the  coat  seemed  less  satisfactory;  at  least 


MY  LODGINGS.  19 

SO  said  her  eye.  Woman's  eye  is  a  natural  telltale; 
he  that  runs  may  read  it.  I  flatter  myself  in  possess- 
ing peculiar  tact  at  reading  this  pretty  picture-book 
with  wonderful  accuracy.  Her  eye  expressed,  though 
with  scarce  perceptible  shade,  dissatisfaction.  INly 
coat  was  undoubtedly  a  perfect  coat;  it  fitted  me  well. 
I  had  had  it  upon  my  back  only  a  twelvemonth  from 
the  tailor's,  when  I  made  my  search  the  ]May  preceding 
for  lodgings.  It  was  now  colourless;  that  is,  black. 
Possibly  it  might  have  acknowledged  a  slight  modifi- 
cation of  black — an  inclination  to  a  delicate  shade  of 
gray.  I  was  also  lintless.  It  had  been  well  brushed 
that  morning;  and  by  dint  of  brushing,  it  could  not  be 
told,  I  verily  believe,  a  short  distance  ofl",  from  the 
finest  bombazine.  It  once  had  been  graced  by  lappels, 
but  when  the  late  fashions  came  round,  I  had  taken 
them  off.  There  was  economy  in  that.  I  have  since 
found  use  for  them!  I  consider  my  coat  ahogether 
conime  il  faut.  But  woman's  tact  and  penetration! 
Oh,  woman! 

"  In  our  hours  of  ease, 
Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please!" 

Fortune  favor  the  wretch  who  has  to  pass  the  ordeal 
of  your  inquisitive  and  searching  glance!  I  foresaw 
the  result! 

My  nether  teguments  next  passed  muster.  I  trem- 
bled for  them.  One  can  preserve  a  coat  longer  than 
pantaloons.  He  can  take  it  off  when  he  enters  his 
room,  and  be  almost  ever  without  it,  except  in  Broad- 
way. It  is  not  so  with  the  pantaloons.  One  would 
not  like  to  write  or  read  in  drawers,  if  he  had  such 
useless  and  expensive  under  garments.  A  coat,  reader 
— this  for  your  private  ear — will  last  twenty-seven 
months,  where  pantaloons  will  dilapidate  at  nineteen. 
I  know  this  to  be  the  case,  my  friend,  for  I  proved  it 
experimentally.     My  pantaloons  called  forth  a  glance 


20  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

of  decided  disapproval.  They  were  only  a  little 
whitish  about  the  angles  of  my  limbs — (my  ink  had 
been  getting  pale  for  several  days,  or  I  should  not 
have  been  so  betrayed) — and  although  I  "kindo' 
dropped'^ — (bless  Jack  Downing  for  this  morceau  of 
expressive  phraseology) — my  handkerchief  before  me 
when  I  saw  what  I  had  to  pass  through,  I  could  not 
conceal  it.  But  I  had  done  better  to  let  it  remain  perdu 
in  my  coat  pocket.  It  did  not  benefit  me;  but  rather 
coming  itself  in  such  questionable  shape  to  the  aid  of 
its  friend,  the  trousers,  it  operated  materially,  I  could 
see  by  the  lurking  devil  in  her  eye,  to  my  disadvan- 
tage. The  fashion  of  my  trousers — (for  I  used  care- 
fully to  have  them  "taken  in"  when  the  tights  came 
about,  and  "let  out"  when  the  fu/ls  had  the  ascend- 
ant)— their  fashion  was  indisputable.  My  boots  were 
highly  polished;  the  heels  were  worn  a  little  one  sided, 
but,  thank  heaven!  as  she  stood  in  front  of  me,  she 
could  not  discern  this  contingent  feature;  and  also 
there  had  been  a  rip — merely  a  rip,  sir — on  one  side 
of  the  left  boot,  which  had  been  carefully  closed  with 
a  neat  patch.  Her  eye  rested — (how  much  these 
women  understand!  how  faithfully  they  discriminate! 
verily,  I  stand  in  fear  of  the  whole  sex)— for  full 
twenty  seconds  upon  that  little,  very  little  patch, 
which  a  man  with  his  obtuser  organs,  would  never, 
upon  my  honor,  certainly  nerer  would  have  detected 
— (oh,  woman,  woman  is — young  and  pretty  ones  I 
mean — the  d — 1!) — and  then  glanced  to  a  pair  of  kid 
gloves,  somewhat  soiled,  held,  for  certain  obvious  rea- 
sons, folded  together  in  my  hand. 

This  whole  survey  and  inventory  of  my  personal 
habiliments,  consumed  about  twenty-eight  seconds  by 
the  watch.  I  wear  a  watch!  It  is  of  massive  silver, 
with  a  single  case  and  a  double  case.  It  had  been  my 
great  uncle's.  It  was  now  and  still  is  mine.  Ifiter 
7ios;  the  pawnbrokers  wouldn't  take  it! 

"Yes,  sir,"  came  at  last  the  reply  to  my  query, 


MY  LODGINGS. 


21 


"there  is  a  large  room  in  the  garret,"  and  her  pretty 
Hp  curled  as  she  said  it.  Cupid  befriend  me!  I  saw 
she  took  my  cloth  at  once. 

Sympathising  reader,  that  "large  room  in  the  at- 
tick''  became/ after  certain  necessary  preliminaries 
between  the  landlady  and  myself— interesting  only  to 
the  parties  concerned,  but  which  finally  were  amica- 
bly adjusted— became  my  domicilium;  my  drawing- 
room,  parlor,  library,  dormitory,  and  study.  It  be- 
came, emphatically  my  home!  It  was  square  in  shape, 
the  ceiling  descending  obliquely  from  the  top  of  the 
back  side  of  the  room  to  the  floor  on  the  front  side. 
This  surface  was  pierced  about  midway,  and  in  the 
cavity,  and  jutting  far  out  of  the  roof,  was  inserted  a 
dormant  window.  This  window  was  accessible  by  a 
flight  of  three  steps,  springing  from  the  centre  of  the 
apartment.  The  upper  one  was  broad  and  could  con- 
tain a  chair.  I  am  now  seated  in  it,  and  at  the  win- 
dow. It  is  a  comfortable  nook;  and  the  fresh  wind 
from  the  sound  and  Long  Island  comes  gratefully  in 
as  I  sit  here  in  the  evenmg,  and  watch  the  moving 
spectacle  from  the  streets  below.  I  love  an  at  tick! 
You  are  nearer  heaven,  and  beyond  the  reach  of 
kitchen  odors  and  scolding  housewives;  above  the 
dust  and  noise  of  the  streets,  with  a  glorious  prospect 
of  the  verdant  country  outspread  beyond  a  thousand 
roofs,  unknown  by,  and  denied  to,  the  cooped  up  cits 
on  the  first  and  second  floors.  What  an  invigorating 
breeze!  Not  the  tainted  current,  circulating  stagnant 
and  slow  through  the  close  streets,  but  the  sweet 
breath  of  summer,  laden  with  a  thousand  fragrant 
spices,  stolen  from  the  hills,  meadows,  and  gardens 
over  which  it  has  passed.  For  these  blessings  the  cits 
go  to  the  country,  with  much  expenditure  of  time  and 
money  and  patience.  I  can  have  them  all  by  going 
two  pair  of  stairs  higher  than  fashion  will  allow  them 
to  mount. 

From  my  attick  window,  then,  courteous  reader, 


22  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

we  will  look  forth  for  subjects  that  shall  both  benefit 
our  philosophies,  and  withal  contribute  to  our  diver- 
tisement.  This  paper  is  only  introductory  thereto.  If 
prolix,  attribute  it,  patient  reader,  to  the  excellency  of 
thy  companionship;  for  when  a  man  findeth  good 
company  he  is  loth  to  take  leave  soon,  and  his  hand 
lingers  long  in  the  friendly  grasp,  ere  the  tongue  can 
reluctantly  repeat  "farewell." 


THE 


ROMANCE  OF  BROADWAY. 


THE  ^ 


ROMANCE    OF    BROADWAY. 


"  I  HAVE  earned  three  shillings,  York,  this  blessed 
afternoon!"  I  exclaimed  with  ill-suppressed  exulta- 
tion, as  I  threw  down  my  pen,  which  I  had  been  dili- 
gently using  for  four  hours — (I  was  penning  "  an  ar- 
ticle" for  a  certain  "  monthly,"  dear  reader) — pushed 
my  closely  written  manuscripts  from  me,  and  compla- 
cently took  a  yellow  cigar  from  my  hat,  which  1  have 
made  my  chief  pocket  since  my  fifth  year,  the  time,  I 
believe,  when  my  discriminating  parents  exchanged 
my  infant  cap  for  the  manly  castor.  Three  York 
shillings  have  I  made  this  blessed  day,  heaven  be 
thanked!  and  now  I  can  conscientiously  take  a  little 
"  ease  in  mine  inn!"  Whereupon,  I  ignited  my  cigar 
Avith  a  self-enkindling  apparatus,  a  gift  from  my  con- 
siderate landlady — pray  heaven  she  charge  it  not 
in  her  bill — to  save  her  candles,  and  ascending  the 
three  steps  to  my  window  I  seated  myself  in  my 
accustomed  chair,  and  forthwith  began  to  speculate 
on  things  external.  It  was  that  calm,  lovely  time, 
which  is  wont  to  usher  in  the  twilight  of  a  summer 
evening.  The  roll  of  wheels  in  Broadway  beneath 
me  was  ceaseless.  Bright  forms  flashed  by  in  gay 
carriages!  The  happy,  the  gallant,  and  the  beautiful, 
3 


26  THE  A3IERICAN  LOUNGER. 

were  all  forth  to  take  the  air  on  the  fashionable  even- 
ing drive!  Why  was  I  not  with  the  cavalcade!  Where 
was  my  Rosinante?  Where  was  my  "establishment?" 
Echo  answered,  "where?"  I  puffed  away  silently 
and  vigorously  for  a  few  seconds,  as  these  mental 
queries  assailed  me;  and,  blessed  soother  of  the 
troubled,  oh,  incomparable  cigar!  my  philosophy  re- 
turned. 

Diagonally  opposite  to  my  window,  stands  one  of 
the  proudest  structures  on  i3road\vay.  It  is  costly 
with  stone  and  marble,  lofty  porticoes  and  colonnades. 
This  edifice  first  attracted  my  attention  by  its  architec- 
tural beauty,  and  eventually  fixed  it  by  a  mystery, 
that  seemed,  to  my  curious  eye,  surrounding  one  of  its 
inmates!  But  I  will  throw  into  the  story -vein  what  I 
have  to  relate,  for  it  is  a  nouvellette  in  itself.  I  can 
unveil  you  the  mystery,  lady! 

A  lady  of  dazzling 'beauty  was  an  inmate  of  that 
mansion!  and,  for  aught  I  know  to  the  contrary,  its 
only  inmate.  Every  afternoon,  arrayed  in  simple 
white,  with  a  flower  or  two  in  her  hair,  she  was  seat- 
ed at  the  drawing-room  wmdow,  gazing  out  upon  the 
gay  spectacle  Broadway  exhibits  of  a  pleasant  after- 
noon. I  saw  her  the  first  moment  I  took  possession 
of  my  dormant  nook,  and  was  struck  with  her  sur- 
prising lovhness.  Every  evening  I  paid  distant  hom- 
age to  her  beauty.  Dare  a  poor  scribbler,  a  mere 
penny-a-Uner,  aspire  to  a  nearer  approach  to  such  a 
divinity,  enshrined  in  dollars  and  cents?  No!  I  wor- 
shipped like  the  publican,  afar  off.  "  'Tis  distance 
lends  enchantment  to  the  view."  But  she  was  not 
destined  to  be  so  worshipped  by  all.  One  afternoon 
she  was  at  her  window,  with  a  gilt  leaved  volume  in 
her  hand,  Avhen  a  gentleman  of  the  most  graceful 
bearing  rode  past  my  window.  He  was  weU  mount- 
ed, and  sat  his  horse  like  an  Arabian!  He  was  what 
the  boarding  school  misses  would  call  an  elegant  fel- 
low! a  welfbred  woman  of  the  world,  a  remarkably 


THE   ROMANDE  OF  BROADWAY.  27 

handsome  man!  Tall,  with  a  fine  oval  face,  a  black 
penetrating  eye,  and  a  moustache  upon  his  lip,  together 
with  a  fine  figure,  and  the  most  perfect  address,  he 
was,  what  I  should  term,  a  captivating  and  dangerous 
man.  His  air,  and  a  certain  indescribable  co77i  772 e  z7 
faut,  bespoke  him  a  gentleman.  As  he  came  oppo- 
site her  window,  liis  ey^,  as  he  turned  it  thither,  be- 
came fascinated  whh  her  beauty!  How  much  lovelier 
a  really  lovely  creature  appears,  seen  through  "  plate 
glass!''  Involuntarily  he  drew  in  his  spirited  horse 
and  raised  his  hat!  The  action,  the  manner,  and  the 
grace,  were  inimitable.  At  this  unguarded  moment, 
the  'hind  wheel  of  a  rumbling  omnibus  struck  his 
horse  in  the  chest.  The  animal  reared  high,  and 
would  have  fallen  backward  upon  his  rider,  had  he 
not,  with  remarkable  presence  of  mind,  stepped  quiet- 
ly and  gracefully  from  the  stirrup  to  the  pavement,  as 
the  horse,  losing  his  balance,  fell  violently  upon  his 
side.  The  lady,  who  had  witnessed  with  surprise  the 
uivoluntary  homage  of  the  stranger,  for  suchf  from 
her  manner  of  receiving  it,  he  evidently  was  to  her, 
started  from  her  chair  and  screamed  convulsively. 
The  next  moment  he  had  secured  and  remounted  his 
horse,  who  was  only  slightly  stunned  with  the  fall, 
acknowledged  the  interest  taken  in  his  mischance  by 
the  fair  being  who  had  been  its  innocent  cause  (un- 
less beauty  were  a  crime)  by  another  bow,  and  rode 
slowly  and  composedly  onward,  as  if  nothing  unusual 
had  occurred.  The  next  evening  the  carriage  was  at 
the  door  of  the  mansion.  The  liveried  footman  was 
standing  with  the  steps  down,  and  the  handle  of  the 
door  in  his  hand.  The  coachman  was  seated  upon 
his  box.  I  was,  as  usual,  at  my  window.  The  street- 
door  opened,  and,  with  a  light  step,  the  graceful  form 
of  my  heroine  came  forth  and  descended  to  the  car- 
riage. At  that  moment — (some  men  surely  are  born 
under  the  auspices  of  more  indulgent  stars  than  oth- 
ers)— the  stranger  rode  up,  bowed  with  ineffable  grace 


2S  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

and — (blessed  encounter  that,  with  the  omnibus 
wheel!)— his  bow  was  acknowledged  by  an  inclina- 
tion of  her  superb  head,  and  a  smile  that  would  make 
a  man  of  any  soul  seek  accidents  even  in  the  "can- 
non's mouth.''  He  rode  slowly  forward,  and,  in  a 
few  seconds,  the  carriage  took  the  same  direction. 
There  are  no  inferences  to  be  drawn  from  this,  reader! 
All  the  other  carriages  passed  the  same  route.  It  was 
the  customary  one!  At  the  melting  of  twilight  into 
night,  the  throng  of  riders  and  drivers  repassed.  The 
"lady's"  carriage — (it  was  a  landau, and  the  top  was 
thrown  back) — came  last  of  all!  The  cavalier  was 
riding  beside  it!  He  dismounted  as  it  drew  up  before 
the  door,  assisted  her  to  the  pave,  and  took  his  leave! 
For  several  afternoons,  successively,  the  gentleman's 
appearance,  mounted  on  his  noble  animal,  was  simul- 
taneous with  that  of  the  lady  at  her  carriage.  One 
evening  they  were  unusually  late  on  their  return. 
Finally  the  landau  drew  up  before  the  door.  It  was 
too  dark  to  see  faces,  but  I  could  have  sworn  the 
equestrian  was  not  the  stranger!  No!  he  dismounted, 
opened  the  door  of  the  carriage,  and  the  gentleman 
and  lady  descended!  The  footman  had  rode  his  horse, 
while  he,  happy  man!  occupied  a  seat  by  the  side  of 
the  fair  one!  I  watched  the  progress  of  this  amour 
for  several  days,  and  still  the  stranger  had  never  en- 
tered the  house.  One  day,  however,  about  three 
o'clock,  P.  M.,  I  saw  him  lounging  past,  with  that 
ease  and  self-possession  which  characterized  him.  He 
passed  and  repassed  the  house  two  or  three  times,  and 
then  rather  hastily  ascending  the  steps  of  the  portico — 
pulled  at  the  bell.  The  next  moment  he  was  admit- 
ted, and  disappeared  out  of  my  sight.  But  only  for  a 
moment,  reader!  An  attick  hath  its  advantages!  The 
blinds  of  the  drawing-room  were  drawn,  and  imper- 
vious to  any  glance  from  the  street;  but  the  leaves 
were  turned  so  as  to  let  in  the  light  of  heaven  and  my 
own  gaze!    I  could  see  through  the  spaces,  directly 


THE  R03rA>rCE  OF  BROADWAY.  29 

down  into  the  room,  as  distinctly  as  if  there  was  no 
obstruction!  This  I  give  as  "a  hint  to  all  concerned, 
wlio  have  revolving  leaves  to  their  Venetian  blinds. 
Attick  gentlemen  are  much  edified  thereby!  The 
next  moment  he  was  in  the  room,  his  hand  upon  his 
heart — another,  and  I  saw  him  at  her  feet!  Sir — 
would  that  I  had  language  to  paint  you  the  scene! 
Lady — I  then  learned  the  "art  of  love!"  I  shall  have 
confidence,  I  have  so  good  a  pattern,  when  I  go  to 
make  my  declaration!  The  declaration,  the  confes- 
sion, the  acceptation,  all  passed  beneath  me,  most  edi- 
fyingly.  Then  came  the  labial  seal  tliat  made  his 
bliss  secure.  By  his  animated  gestures,  I  could  see 
he  was  urging  her  to  some  sudden  step.  She,  at  first, 
appeared  reluctant,  but  gradually  becoming  more  pla- 
cable, yielded.  In  ten  minutes  the  landau  was  at  the 
door.  They  came  out  arm  in  arm,  and  entered  it!  I 
could  hear  the  order  to  the  coachman,  "  drive  to  St. 
John's  Church."  "An  elopement!"  thought  I.  "Hav- 
ing been  in  at  breaking  cover,  I  will  be  in  at  the 
death!"  and  taking  my  hat  and  gloves,  I  descended, 
as  if  I  carried  a  policy  of  insurance  upon  my  life  in 
my  pocket,  the  long  flights  of  stairs  to  the  street,  bolt- 
ed out  of  the  front  door,  and  followed  the  landau, 
which  I  discerned  just  turning  the  corner  of  Canal 
street!  I  followed  full  fast  on  foot.  I  eschew  omni- 
buses. They  are  vulgar!  When  I  arrived  at  the 
church,  the  carriage  was  before  it,  and  the  "happy 
pair,"  already  joined  together,  were  just  crossing  the 
trot  loir  to  re-enter  it!  The  grinnnig  footman,  who 
had  legally  witnessed  the  ceremony,  followed  them! 

The  next  day,  about  noon,  a  capacious  family  car- 
riage rolled  up  to  the  door  of  the  mansion,  followed 
by  a  barouche  with  servants  and  baggage.  First  de- 
scended an  elderly  gentleman,  who  cast  his  eyes  over 
the  building,  to  see  if  it  stood  where  it  did  when  he 
left  it  for  the  Springs.     Then  came,  one  after  another. 


30  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

two  beautiful  girls;  then  a  baiidsorne  young  man. 
"  How  glad  I  am  that  I  have  got  home  again,"  ex- 
claimed one  of  the  young  ladies,  running  up  the  steps 
to  the  door.  "  I  wonder  where  Jane  is,  that  she  does 
not  meet  us?" 

The  sylph  rang  the  bell  as  she  spoke.  I  could  see 
down  through  Ihe  blinds  into  the  drawing-room. 
There  was  a  scene! 

The  gentleman  was  for  going  to  the  door,  and  the 
lady,  his  bride,  was  striving  to  prevent  him!  "  You 
sha'n't!"— «  I  will!" — "  I  say  you  sha'n't!"—"  I  say 
I  will!" — were  interchanged  as  certainly  between  the 
parties,  as  if  I  had  heard  the  words.  The  gentleman, 
or  rather  husband,  prevailed.  I  saw  him  leave  the 
room,  and  the  next  moment  open  the  street  door.  The 
young  ladies  started  back  at  the  presence  of  the  new 
footman.  The  old  gentleman,  who  was  now  at  the 
door,  inquired  as  he  saw  him,  loud  enough  for  me  to 
hear,  "  Who  in  the  devil's  name  are  you,  sir?" 

^'I  have  the  honor  to  be  your  son-in-law  I" 

"  The  devil  you  have!  and  ivho  may  you  have  the 
honor  to  be?" 

"The  Count   L y!"    with  a  bow  of  ineffable 

condescension. 

"You  are  an  impostor,  sir!" 

"  Here  is  your  eldest  daughter,  my  wife,"  replied 
the  newly-made  husband,  taking  by  the  hand,  his  love- 
ly bride,  Avho  had  come  imploringly  forward  as  the 
disturbance  reached  her  ears.  "  Here  is  my  wife, 
your  daughter!" 

"You  are  mistaken,  sir,  she  is  my  housekeeper!" 

A  scene  followed  tliat  cannot  be  described.  The 
nobleman  had  married  the  gentleman's  housekeeper. 
She  had  spread  the  snare,  and  like  many  a  wiser  fool, 
he  had  fallen  into  it. 

Half  an  hour  afterward,  a  hack  drove  to  the  ser- 
vants' hall  door,  and  my  heroine  came  forth,  closely 


THE    ROMANCE  OF  BROADWAY.  31 

veiled,  with  bag  and  baggage,  and  drove  away.  The 
Count,  for  such  he  was,  I  saw  no  more!  I  saw  his 
name  gazetted  as  a  passenger  in  a  packet  ship  that 
sailed  a  day  or  two  after  for  Havre.  How  he  escaped 
from  the  mansion,  remaineth  yet  a  mystery !  Hence- 
forth, dear  reader,  I  most  conscientiously  eschew  mat- 
rimony. 


\   •■  \ 


SIGHTS  FROM  MY  WINDOW. 


jjUmi^^'''^ 


^    s 


SIGHTS   FROM   MY   WINDOW. 


It  is  my  custom,  clear  reader,  to  mount  the  three 
steps  leading  from  the  centre  of  my  quadrangular  at- 
tick  to  its  only  window,  every  evening,  just  before 
twilight  steals  upon  the  streets.  The  city  is  then  all 
abroad.  Carriages  are  thenplentier  than  pedestrians! 
With  a  brown  Havanna,  elastic  and  fragrant,  be- 
tween my  lips,  I  mechanically  take  my  seat  in  the  lit- 
tle dormant  nook,  and,  while  the  b!\ie  wreaths  of 
smoke  curl  idly  above  my  head,  floating  along  the 
sloping  ceiling,  and  perfuming,  with  its  delicious  nar- 
cotic odors,  the  whole  room,  to  the  utter  discomfiture 
of  my  foes,  the  moschetoes,  I  observe,  with  a  philoso- 
phic and  speculative  eye,  the  passing  multitude.  This 
has  been  my  habit  since  the  evening  of  the  first  of 
]\Iay  last,  when  I  was  formally  inducted  into  my  ele- 
vated domicil,  which,  for  the  moderate  charge  of  two 
dollars  and  one  shilling  per  week — (I  only  room  and 
lodge  here,  dear  reader,  preferring  to  take  my  mea^k 
in  quiet  independence,  at  the  restaurateur's.  One's 
hours  are  his  own,  then,  you  know!  Besides — but  I 
have  other  reasons  of  my  own  which  I  need  not  men- 
tion)— I  am  privileged  to  call  my  home,  my  castle! 
My  window  looks  down  on  Broadway — that  part  of 


36  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

Broadway  near  Bleecker  street. — A  quiet,  and  withal, 
the  <' court-end"  of  the  town,  reader!  A  slight  pro- 
jection of  the  roof  and  its  gutter  conceals  from  me 
the  side-walk  on  this  side;  but  the  middle  of  this  great 
thoroughfare— the  grand  artery  of  the  city — and  the 
opposite  trotioir,  are  exposed,  like  a  map,  to  my  vis- 
ual espionage. 

Look  with  me  forth  from  the  window,  complaisant 
reader!  Take  my  chair  there  in  the  nook,  and  I  will 
stand  (for  there  is  room  only  for  one)  on  this  step  be- 
side you.  Vou  need  not  first  cast  your  eyes  about 
my  apartment.  It  contains  only  a  single  cot-bed — the 
birthright  of  bachelors — two  chairs,  one  of  which  you 
now  honor  me  by  occupying  in  the  window,  a  small, 
drawerless,pine  table,  covered  with  loose  manuscripts, 
poems,  a  well  thumbed  novel,  "  Clinton  Bradshaw," 
a  Dictionary  of  Quotations,  and  a  Bible.  It  is  also 
adorned  by  a  bowl  and  pitcher,  a  drinking  glass,  with 
a  shght  flaw  on  its  rim,  and  a  napkin  of  no  particular 
hue.  A  circular  mirror,  the  size  of  a  hat-crown,  a 
strip  of  old  carpet,  stretched  from  the  bed  to  the  win- 
dow, and  a  leathern  trunk  much  worn  by  dint  of 
travel,  and  containing  my  wardrobe,  complete  the  tale 
of  my  personal  goods,  chattels  and  appurtenances. 
Turn  your  back,  sir,  upon  these  uninteresting  domes- 
tic items,  and  let  us  together  survey  the  living  drama 
beneath. 

The  evening  is  most  delightful.  The  tree-tops  are 
waving  and  rustling  with  a  cool  wind  which  comes 
fresh  from  the  sea.  The  sun  is  near  the  horizon,  and 
flings  his  yellow  beams  aslant  the  city,  gilding,  as  if 
they  were  touched  with  a  pencil  dipped  in  gold,  the 
^tlines  of  the  spires  and  towers.  See  how  the  red 
glow  lingers  upon  the  woods  of  Long  Island,  as  if 
they  were  indeed  on  fire,  and  with  what  dazzling 
splendor  the  windows  of  the  houses  on  the  heights 
send  back  the  sun-beams!  How  such  an  evening 
gladdens  the  heart !    One  feels  at  peace  with  himself 


SIGHTS  FROM  MY  WINDOW.  37 

and  all  around  him.  See  how  the  city  has  poured 
forth  its  beauty  and  fashion  to  do  homage  to  the  beau- 
ty of  the  hour.  Bend  forward  a  little,  a  very  little, 
and  you  may  see  down  Broadway  a  mile,  till  the 
street'  terminates  in  a  point.  The  summits  of  the 
trees  on  the  Battery  rise  still  beyond,  here  and  there 
relieved  by  an  intervening  spire,  pointing,  like  the 
finger  of  faith,  to  heaven.  What  a  confused  specta- 
cle^the  whole!  What  a  labyrinth  of  carriages,  mov- 
ing in  every  possible  direction,  threatening  every  in- 
stant to  come  in  dangerous  contact,  and  yet  passing 
each  other  safely!  And  the  side  walk — you  can  fol- 
low it  with  your  eye  till  it  is  lost  beneath  the  project- 
ing shade  from  the  stores  in  the  distance — for  your 
gaze  penetrates  the  business  section  of  Broadway. 
How  the  people  pour  along  both  pavh!  more  on  the 
west  one,  for  it  is  the  most  fashionable  and  pleasant. 
How,  in  a  long,  dark  line,  like  trains  of  emmets,  pass- 
ing different  ways,  to  and  from  their  habitations  of 
sand,  they  seem  to  move  along.  You  can  watch  them 
till  you  can  contemplate  them  only  as  long  lines  of 
these  busy  insects,  passing  and  repassing.  To  the  eye 
where  is  the  distinction?  Which  is  the  immortal?  The 
emmet  performs  its  allotted  destiny,  so  does  man. 
Both  alike  spring  from  and  return  to  the  earth.  In 
this  world,  the  one  appears  as  useful  as  the  other,  its 
pursuits  as  earnest  and  as  dignified.  It  is  in  the  next 
world  where  man  shall  stand  forth  in  his  destined 
greatness,  either  for  good  or  evil.  Here  he  is  as  the 
brutes  that  perish! 

Having  given  utterance  to  this  brief  morceau  of  a 
moral,  lefus  survey  more  particularly  the  crowd  flow- 
ing past  like  a  human  river. 

Do  you  observe  that  barouche  with  claret-colored 
pannels  and  lining,  drawn  by  two  large  bays,  with  an 
elderly  gentleman  on  the  back  seat,  clothed  in  deep 
mourning?  As  he  turns  his  face  this  way,  it  wears  a 
cast  of  sadness.  Two  months  ago,  that  carriage  con- 
4 


38  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

tained  one  of  the  lovliest  girls  ever  whirled  along 
Broadway  on  an  evening  drive.  She  was  always 
arrayed  in  simple  white,  with  a  neat  cottage  and  green 
veil.  (What  a  pity  the  ladies  should  have  given  up 
the  pretty,  fascinating  cottage !  nothing  was  ever  so 
becoming  to  a  pretty  face ! )  She  sat  upon  the  forward 
seat,  with  her  face  to  her  father.  Such  a  face  as  hers 
angels  must  wear!  It  was  lovely  beyond  description. 
Raphael  would  have  thrown  aside  his  pencil  before 
her  in  despair.  Her  eyes  were  large,  black,  and  lus- 
trous. All  her  soul  beamed  in  them  when  she  spoke 
to  her  parent.  Tenderness,  passion,  love,  devotion, 
and  each  and  every  gentle  quality,  that  makes  woman 
ethereal  and  heavenly  above  men,  dwelt  in  them,  and 
played  in  a  brilliant  smile  upon  her  lips.  Every  even- 
ing, for  three  weeks,  she  rode  past;  and  every  even- 
ing she  was  the  same  brilliant  and  beautiful  creation. 
The  sound  of  her  carriage-wheels  were  at  length 
looked  for  by  me  with  habitual  expectation.  One 
evening  I  sought  in  vain  for  her  lovely  face  among 
the  throng  of  carriages.  Twilight  was  lost  in  night, 
and  I  had  seen  neither  the  claret  barouche  nor  the  ob- 
ject of  my  solicitude.  Two  weeks  passed  away,  and, 
with  slower  motion,  the  long-looked  for  barouche 
came  in  sight.  The  father  and  daughter  were  in  it. 
She  sat  upon  the  back  seat;  but  oh,  how  changed! 
Her  pale  and  sunken  cheek  leaned  upon  his  shoulder, 
while  with  tender  parental  anxiety,  he  supported  her 
drooping  form.  She  had  been  ill,  and,  no  doubt,  was 
now  taking  the  air  for  the  first  time.  Poor  girl,  she 
was  but  the  shadow  of  her  former  self  Two  more 
evenings  she  passed,  and  she  seemed  weaker  each  day. 
The  third,  the  fourth,  and  the  fifth  evenings,  the  claret- 
colored  barouche  was  withdrawn  from  the  gay  cav- 
alcade. The  sixth,  there  appeared  a  long  line  of  car- 
riages, proceeding  at  that  slow  pace  which  indicates 
a  funeral  procession.  A  hearse,  covered  with  a  pall, 
and  decorated  with  black  plumes,  came  first;  then 


SIGHTS  FROM  MT  WINDOW.  39 

slowly  behind  it,  the  claret-coloured  carriage,  lined 
with  crape.  He  was  in  deep  mourning,  his  face  bu- 
ried in  a  white  kerchief.  He  was  alone  in  the  ba- 
rouche. His  daughter  was  beneath  that  pall.  He 
was  following  her  to  the  grave!  There  is  a  sad  tale, 
and  full  of  strange  interest,  I  have  since  learned  of 
her.     I  may  tell  it  you  in  some  still,  twihght  hour. 

There  rolls  a  carriage  more  splendid  than  any  we 
have  yet  seen,  and  we  have  seen  many  gorgeous 
ones. — A  black  footman  in  a  sort  of  half-livery — (for 
cis-atlantic  aristocrats  ape^  but  do  not  copy,  the  aris- 
tocracy of  Europe) — is  behind;  and  there  is  a  black 
coachman,  with  the  same  fancy-colored  hat-band  and 
button  on  his  cape,  pompously  mounted  upon  the 
coach-seat.  Observe  his  air.  He  feels  himself  a  greater 
gentleman  than  his  master.  There  is  a  lady  within, 
both  graceful  and  pretty,  yet  she  sits  mopingly  beside 
that  noble-looking  gentleman.  Two  months  ago  they 
rode  out  together  in  a  landau.  She  was  then  all 
smiles  and  animation.  Shortly  after,  a  wedding  par- 
ty passed  beneath  my  window;  this  lady  and  gentle- 
man were  sitting  side  by  side,  the  happiest  of  the 
happy.  They  now  ride  out  as  you  have  just  seen. 
They  are  married!  I  rather  think  I  shall  not  aspire 
to  the  room  with  a  double  bed ! 

There  go  two  "  middies,'^  in  a  sulkey.  One  of  them 
is  "  larking"  it  on  shore  with  much  grace.  See  the 
air  with  which  he  reins  in  his  noble  animal!  Mark 
his  position — turning  his  side  partly  to  the  horse,  and 
as  erect  as  the  mizzen-top-gallant-mast  of  his  frigate! 
He  is  evidently  creating  a  sensation;  at  least  he  thinks 
so,  which  is  virtually  the  same  thing.  His  shipmate 
beside  him  is  equally  as  gay  in  navy  blue  and  buttons; 
but  he  is  visibly  raw.  He  is  not  at  home.  His  hands 
are  sadly  troublesome.  The  sulkey  is  open  all  round, 
and  he  is  much  embarrassed  by  his  exposure  to  all 
eyes.  He  wishes  himself  in  the  cook's  coppers,  rath- 
er than  where  he  is.     The  self-nossession  and  ease  of 


40  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

his  more  graceful  and  knowing  companion,  contrasts 
admirably  with  his  bashful  awkwardness.  Yet  he 
will  go  aboard  to-night  and  swear  bravely  what  a  glo- 
rious drive  he  had  up  Broadway. 

There  trots  a  magnificent  creature!  See,  he  scarce 
touches  the  pavement.  But  see  what  a  gawk  is 
mounted  on  him!  That  fellow  has  been  leaniing  to 
ride  every  evening  for  the  last  two  months;  and  look 
at  him — I  could  mount  a  pair  of  crutches  on  a  horse 
more  gracefully.  His  spurs  are  too  long,  and  he  car- 
ries his  legs  as  if  he  had  neither  knee  nor  ankle  joint. 
I  will  find  you  a  pair  of  compasses  will  do  better. 

Here  is  a  hack  trundling  by  loaded  with  "  loafers." 
Heaven  bless  the  inventor  of  this  most  expressive  term! 
Two  Irish  women  and  three  children  on  the  front  seat, 
and  two  men  in  white  roundabouts  behind.  The  chests, 
and  bags,  and  boxes,  are  piled  like  a  catacomb  around 
the  driver  and  behind  his  coach.  The  children  are 
bawling,  yet  the  women  are  laughing  and  chattering, 
and  the  men  lovingly  sharing  a  boltle  of  whiskey  be- 
tween them.  There  they  turn  down  a  cross  street,  as 
happy,  no  doubt,  in  their  own  way,  as  any  who  have 
rode  by  this  evening.  There  rolls  a  carriage,  contain- 
ing but  a  single  lady.  She  always  wears  that  same 
sweet  smile.  She  is  now  alone,  but  I  have  seen  her 
carriage  full  of  noisy,  beautiful  children.  She  takes 
them  out  with  her  twice  a  week.  She  is  arrayed  in 
half  mourning;  for  so  I  should  read  that  black  riband, 
passed  with  such  elegant  simplicity  about  her  hat. 
She  must  be  a  widow,  for  I  have  never  known  her  to 
be  accompanied  by  a  husband-looking  man.  These 
husbands  are  marked  men!  There  are  signs  by  which 
I  know  them! 

There  is  a  grave  looking  gentleman,  walking  with 
a  stout  orange  stick.  He  never  rides.  He  takes  his 
airings  on  foot.  He  knows  how  to  preserve  his  health. 
That  miserable  little  boy  has  risen  from  the  steps  of 
that  marble  portico  to  solicit   his  charity.     See!   he 


SIGHTS  FROM  MY  WINDOW.  41 

looks  at  the  lad  and  then  at  the  crowd.  IMark  the 
struggle  between  pity  for  the  wretched  beggar-boy, 
and  reluctance  at  givmg  in  so  pubUc  a  manner.  His 
amiable  sensitiveness  prevails.  He  takes  another  look 
at  the  crowded /?f/fe,  and  turns  hastily  and  passes  on. 
Observe  him!  He  looks  back — his  step  falters — his 
hand  seeks  his  pocket.  He  has  turned  back  and  placed 
a  quarter  of  a  dollar  in  the  child's  hand.  Now  see 
how  he  withdraws  from  the  public  eye,  as  if  he 
thought  all  had  seen  him  give  what  he  would  rather 
should  have  been  given  in  secret.  How  elastic  his 
step!  He  will  sleep  soundly  to-night,  that  good  man! 
and  with  a  clear  conscience ! 


YANKEE    ARISTOCRACY 


YANKEE  ARISTOCRACY. 


"  He  that  hath  a  trade  hath  an  estate."— Poor  Richard. 

Edward  Belden  was  the  son  of  a  New  England 
country  merchant.  He  had  ten  brothers  and  sisters, 
the  majority  of  whom  were  younger  than  himself. 
The  head  and  front  of  these  offences  was  a  merchant; 
that  is,  he  kept  a  grocery,  next  door  to  the  principal 
tavern,  at  the  corner  of  the  stage  road  and  Main  street 
of  a  certain  village  in  the  State  of  INIaine. — All  per- 
sons who  buy  goods  to  sell  again  across  a  counter,  are 
in  New  England,  styled  "  Merchants,"  not  tradesmen 
or  storekeepers,  but  emphatically  and  aristocratically 
— merchants.  Merchants  are  gentlemen;  therefore 
Mr.  Belden  was  a  gentleman.  In  the  land  of  steady 
habits,  a  gentleman  is  one  who  is  not  a  mechanic  or 
operative.  Mr.  Belden  had  never  soiled  his  hands 
with  tools,  although  he  sold  eggs  and  fish-hooks,  nuts 
and  raisins,  tea  and  sugar  by  the  pound,  and  retailed 
at  one  end  of  his  dark  crowded  store,  rum  at  three 
cents  per  glass.  He  would  sell  oats  by  the  peck  and 
"strike"  the  measure  himself,  whiten  his  coat  by 
shoveling  flour  and  meal  from  the  barrel  or  "  bin" 
into  the  scales,  and  grease  his  gentlemanly  fingers  with 
the  weighing  of  butter,  cheese,  and  lard.     Yet,  Mr. 


46  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

Belden  was  a  gentleman!  he  knew  no  vulgar  occupa- 
tions! IMrs.  Belden  was,  of  course,  a  lady — her  hus- 
band was  a  merchant !  She  gave  parties,  and  her  en- 
tertainments were  the  envious  gossip  of  the  village. 

"  Oh,"  says  Mrs.  Belden,  confidentially  to  the  law- 
yer's lady,  who  had  hinted  in  a  very  neighborly  way, 
that  she  thought  Mrs.  Belden  was  becoming  somewhat 
extravagant,  "  oh,  my  dear  Mrs.  Edgerton,  they  don't 
cost  us  nothing  at  all,  hardly — we  get  ^em  all  out  o' 
the  store!" 

Mrs.  Belden  never  visited  mechanics'  wives,  nor 
allowed  her  children  to  associate  with  mechanics'  chil- 
dren. 

"  Marm;  what  do  you  think  Ned  did,  comin'  home 
from  school?"  shouted  a  httle  Belden,  bolting  into  the 
door,  with  his  eyes  and  mouth  wide  open,  his  mother's 
injunctions  fresh  in  his  memory;  "he  spoke  to  Bill 
Webster,  he  did,  for  I  seed  him!"  and  the  little  aris- 
tocrat's eyes  were  popped  two  inches  further  from  his 
head  as  he  delivered  the  astounding  information. 

"  Edward !  did  you  speak  to  that  Bill  Webster?"  in- 
quired his  mother,  in  a  tone  of  offended  dignity,  as  she 
scraped  the  dough  which  she  was  kneading  from  her 
lady-like  fingers;  "didn't  you  know  his  father  was  a 
cabinetmaker,  and  hasn't  I  and  your  pa  repeatedly 
told  you  not  to  speak  to  such  boys?" 

"  Well,  ma,  I  only  asked  him  about  my  lesson," 
pleaded  the  culprit  in  defence. 

"About  your  lesson!"  exclaimed  the  angry  parent; 
"  and  what  had  Bill  Webster  to  do  either  with  you  or 
your,  lesson?" 

"  Because  he's  the  best  scholar  in  the  academy,  and 
at  the  head  of  the  class,  and  even  Judge  Perkins's 
son  is  glad  to  get  Bill  to  help  him  when  he's  got 
stuck." 

"  I  guess  if  his  father  knew  it,  he'd  soon  stick  him," 
exclaimed  the  injured  parent,  "  and  1  shall  go  right 
over  after  dinner  and  tell  Mrs.  Judge  Perkins  directly. 


YANKEE  ARISTOCRACY.  47 

— It's  a  shame  that  those  mechanics'  children  should 
be  allowed  to  go  to  the  academy  and  associate  with 
gentlemen's  sons.  Here's  your  father!  now  we'll  see 
what  he  says  about  it." 

Mr.  Belden,  a  short,  stout  man,  inclined  to  cor- 
pulency, with  half  whiskers,  bluish  gray  eyes,  and  ra- 
ther pleasing  physiognomy,  entered  from  the  store, 
which  was  situated  but  a  few  yards  distant  from  his 
two  story  white  house,  with  green  blinds,  and  a  front 
yard  with  stone  steps,  as  Mrs.  Belden  was  wont  to 
describe  it.  His  coat  was  dusted  with  flour,  and  grea- 
sy by  contact  with  various  unguinous  articles  which 
his  store  contained. 

"  What's  the  matter,  what's  the  matter,  my  dear?" 
he  inquired,  in  a  quick,  good-humored  tone,  seeing  the 
children  grouped  around  their  mother,  listening  in 
timid  silence,  while  the  placidity  of  her  features  was 
considerably  disturbed. 

^'  Have  the  boys  been  at  any  of  their  capers?" 

'•  Capers!"  repeated  his  otfended  lady;  "  all  I  can 
do  and  say,  I  can't  get  these  children  to  mind  me — I 
wish  you  would  take  them  in  hand,  Mr.  Belden,  for 
they  have  tried  my  patience,  till  I  can't  stand  it  no 
longer."  And  she  looked  as  if  she  was  the  most 
aggrieved  woman  in  the  world. 

''  Why,  why,  what  have  they  done?"  inquired  the 
perplexed  husband,  still  holding  the  handle  of  the  door 
by  which  he  had  entered. 

^•Done!  Here's  Edward  been  speaking  to  that 
Bill  Webster,  when  I  have  told  him  over  and  over 
again,  not  to  have  any  thing  to  say  to  any  such  boys, 
and  expressly  told  him  and  all  the  children,  to  speak 
to  no  boys  nor  girls  whose  fathers  an't  merchants,  like 
their'n,  nor  lawyers,  or  doctors,  or  ministers,  and  they 
know  it  well,  too." 

"  Well,  well,  wife,  I'll  settle  it,"  replied  Mr.  Belden, 
soothingly  and  good  humoredly,  for  he  had  just  made 


48  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

a  good  bargain  with  a  country  customer — *^  Edward, 
come  hereto  me." 

The  culprit  came  forward  and  placed  himself  by  his 
fother,  who  had  taken  a  chair  near  the  fire,  conscious 
that  reproof  or  advice  comes  clothed  with  more  digni- 
ty from  one  seated  than  standing. 

"  Edward,  you  are  now  in  your  fifteenth  year,"  said 
the  parent  gravely.  "  In  two  or  three  years  more  you 
will  enter  college,' and  you  should  now  learn  to  choose 
your  associates." 

^-  Children,  Usten  to  your  father,"  commanded  Mrs. 
Belden,  seeing  the  turn  her  husband's  remarks  Avere 
likely  to  take;  '•  he  speaks  to  you  as  well  as  to  Ed- 
ward." 

"  In  the  first  place,  my  son,  you  must  remember 
that  your  parents  are  respectable — that  is,  move  in  the 
first  circles,  and  are  not  mechanics.  Now,  in  America, 
where  there  is  no  nobilitr  or  titles,  to  say  what  is  or 
what  is  not  ^respectable,'  why  we  must  have  certain 
rules  by  which  we  can  tell  who  are  and  who  are  not 
so.  Now  the  only  way  you,  Avho  are  a  boy,  can  tell 
what  boys  are  ^  respectable'  and  what  are  not,  is  by 
knowing  what  profession  their  parents  are  of  Now, 
a  mechanic  of  no  kind  is  respectable;  they  all  belong 
to  the  '  lower  class.'  " 

Here  his  youngest  daughter  interrupted,  '^  Isn't  mil- 
liners and  nianty-makers  '  respectable,'  pa?" 

"  No,  my  child,  they  are  female  mechanics,  and  are 
therefore  not '  respectable.'  " 

"  Well,  then,  I  spoke  to  Miss  (Mrs.,  generally  in 
New  England,  is  pronounced  Miss,)  Miller's  little 
Jane,  and^walked  most  home  from  school  with  her  to- 
day. Oh,  Tm  so  sorry  I"  The  penitent  criminal,  af- 
ter receiving  a  severe  reproof  from  her  mother,  re- 
treated behind  a  chair,  and  the  father  continued. 

"  The  question  is,  my  son,  when  you  wish  to  select 
your  companions  at  school,  or  at  college,  first  to  learn 
whether  their  fathers  are  rich!  for  rich  men  cannot,  of 


YANKEE  ARISTOCRACY.  49 

course,  be  mechanics.  The  next  place,  whether  they 
are  lawyers,  merchants,  doctors,  or  ministers;  for  in 
these  four  '  professions'  are  included  all  American  gen- 
tlemen, except  senators,  state  officers,  and  such  like, 
who  are  respectable  by  their  office.  With  no  other 
families  should  you  associate,  for  you  should  at  all 
times  endeavor  to  keep  up  the  dignity  of  your  family. 
Now,  my  son,  you  may  sit  down  to  your  dinner.'' 

Here  the  merchant' concluded  with  an  emphatic 
«  ahem,"  and  was  about  to  turn  his  chair  to  take  his 
seat  at  the  table,  when  one  of  his  younger  boys  hesi- 
tatingly inquired, ''  if  a  watch  maker  wath  respecta- 
ble?'^ 

"  Why  so,  my  child?"  rejoined  the  self-complacent 
parent. 

«'  Coth,  if  ta'nt  no  thpectable  people  ought  to  thpeak 
to  you." 

*'  Come  to  your  dinner,  children,  and  ^o?/,  you  lisp- 
ing chit,  shall' wait,  for  your  forwardness,"  exclaimed 
the  now  justly  provoked'mother,  (for  jMr.Belden,reader, 
was  unfortunately  the  son  of  a  watch-maker!)   Ed- 
ward laughed  in  his  sleeve;  ISIr.  Belden  carved  the 
joint  in  silence,  and  in  silence  Mrs.  Belden  helped 
round  the  vegetables.     During  the  recess  of  that  very 
afternoon,  the  aristocratical  scion,  Edward  Belden, 
plaved  at  catch  and  toss  with  that  young  democrat, 
Bill  Webster.     This  brief  family  scene  is  not  intro- 
duced as  affecting,  materially,  the  general  interest  of 
our  tale,  but  to  disclose  a  state  of  manners  and  mode 
of  thinking,  by  no  means  uncommon,  in  New  Eng- 
land; presenting  a  strange  anomaly  in  the  society  of 
American  material  that  hereafter  may  afford  materi- 
als for  a  pair  of  volumes.— Yet  it  is  to  such  principles 
as  those  we  have  just  heard  dictated  by  a  parent  to 
his  child,  that  the  adverse  fortunes  of  that  child  and  a 
thousand  others  of  New  England's  children  are  to  be 
referred.     The  income  Mr.  Belden  derived  from  his 
store,  was  from  eight  hundred  to  tw^o  thousand  dollars 
5 


50  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

per  annum.  His  domestic  expenses,  which  could  not 
possibly  be  very  great,  as  every  thing,  from  the  chil- 
dren's shoes  to  their  spelling  books,  from  the  -'kitchen 
girl's"  caHco  and  handkerchief  to  Mrs.  Belden's  silks 
and  laces,  besides  all  the  provisions,  "  came  out  of  the 
store.'''' — How  they  came  into  the  store  never  entered 
into  the  brain  of  Mrs.  Belden.  She  was  satisfied  her 
housekeeping  could  cost  nothing;  ''never  mind,  it 
came  out  of  the  store,"  was  the  coup  de  grace,  by 
^vhich  she  silenced  every  qualm  of  conscience  or 
friendly  hint  from  envious  neighbors,  upon  her  own 
extravagance  in  household  matters.  For  Mrs.  Bel- 
den sought  to  keep  up  appearances,  and  there  were 
other  merchants'  ladies  in  the  neighboring  town  she 
must  rival.  What  with  Mrs.  Belden's  expensive 
habits,  and  Mr.  Belden's  moderate  profits,  he  seldom 
laid  by  more  than  two  or  three  hundred  dollars  a  year. 
Yet  on  this  small  income,  whhout  the  prospect  of  hav- 
ing a  dollar  to  give  them  when  they  became  of  age, 
his  children  must  be  educated! — gentlemen  and  ladies! 
as  if  heirs  to  principalities.  Let  us  see  what  gentle- 
men and  ladies  he  made  of  them.  It  will  serve  brief- 
ly to  develope  a  system  of  gentility  and  genteel  edu- 
cation, lamentably  prevalent  throughout  the  villages 
and  small  towns  of  New  England. 

Amelia,  the  eldest  daughter,  grew  up  tall  and  well 
formed,  pale  and  romantic.  She  had  attended  the  vil- 
lage female  academy  from  her  youth  upward.  At 
eighteen  she  left  school  tolerably  well  educated.  That 
is,  she  was  versed  in  geography,  and  could  tell  you 
the  capitals  of  every  European  state  more  readily 
than  those  of  the  various  States  of  her  own  country; 
and  knew,  (so  deeply  learned  was  she,)  more  about 
the  lives  of  the  kings  of  England  and  of  Egypt,  than 
of  the  Presidents  of  the  United  States.  She  could 
paint  fruit  pieces  and  mourning  pieces,  which  still 
huna:  over  her  mantle  in  testimony  of  her  skill:  write 
a  neat  hand,  cypher  tolerably,  and  play  a  little  on  the 


YANKEE  AKISTOCRACY.  51 

piano.  Yet,  with  all  these  accomplislinients,  she 
found  herself  at  the  age  of  twenty-seven  unmarried, 
and,  at  last,  to  escape  her  mother's  tongue,  which 
grew  sharper  as  she  grew  older,  and  wagged  particu- 
larly against  "  old  ma'ids,"  and  to  find  the  wherewithal 
to  purchase  dresses,  for  she  had  inherited  her  mother's 
love  of  finery,  she  accepted  an  offer  to  keep  the 
school  (this  not  being  mechanical,  except  in  cases  of 
flagellation,  is  theretore  "  respectable,"  and  conferring 
no  disgrace)  in  a  neighboring  village,  in  which  delight- 
ful task,  peradventure,  she  is  still  engaged. 

The  second  child,  who  was  a  son,  having  a  natural 
mathematical  turn,  and  much  mechanical  ingenuity, 
at  the  age  of  seventeen,  when  his  father  proposed 
taking  him  into  the  ''  store,"  pleaded  hard  to  become  a 
machhiist,  or  go  to  sea — any  thing  but  to  be  tied  to 
the  counter  of  a  country  grocery.  His  parents  were 
shocked  at  his  vulgar  tastes.  The  young  man,  after 
staying  behind  the  counter,  three  months,  during 
which  time  he  was  placed  at  the  station  at  the  further 
end,  where  rum  was  retailed,  because  his  careful  pa- 
rent could  trust  no  one  else  there,  and,  after  hearing 
more  oaths  and  seeing  more  intemperance  than  would 
have  corrupted  a  Samuel,  yielded,  disgusted  with 
his  employment,  to  the  offers  of  an  intelligent  sea  cap- 
tain, and  amid  the  tears,  groans,  and  prophecies  of  his 
mother,  (for  the  caste  of  sea  captains  is  not  exactly 
comme  il J'uiit,)  went  to  sea  with  him.  He  is  now, 
though  young,  the  first  officer  of  a  packet  ship  from 
New  York,  and  a  gentleman,  in  spite  of  his  father. 

The  third  son,  a  fine  spirited  boy,  who  widied  to 
become  a  jeweler  rather  than  succeed  his  sea-struck 
brother  in  the  store,  eventually  followed  his  brother's 
example,  by  eloping,  and  after  various  adventures, 
during  which  he  lost  both  health  and  reputation,  be- 
came one  of  the  lowest  supernumeraries  on  the  New 
York  stage.  The  cholera  of  1S32  put  an  end  to  his 
misery,  his  dissipation  and  pecuniary  wretchedness, 


52  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

and  the  Potter's  field  has  become  his  last  resting  place. 
The  fourth  was  apprenticed  to  a  respectable  whole- 
sale dry  goods  merchant  in  Boston.  When  he  became 
of  age,  and  desired  to  enter  into  business  on  his  own 
responsibility,  his  employer,  to  whom  he  looked  for 
assistance,  "failed,"  and  he  was  at  once  thrown  upon 
the  world  with  but  a  few  hundred  dollars  in  his  pos- 
session. He  again  became  a  clerk  to  another  house, 
on  a  scanty  salary,  for,  although  a  man  of  business, 
integrity,  and  industry,  he  was  not  a  man  of  capital. 
He  knows  no  trade— he  is  fit  for  nothing  but  a  mer- 
chant's clerk.  He  is  still  clerking,  although  nearly 
thirty  years  of  age,  while  he  finds  about  him  men  of 
wealth  and  independence,  although  mechanics,  like 
their  fathers  before  them,  whom,  when  at  school  he  was 
taught  to  despise.  With  what  bitter  curses  upon  the 
foolish  system  to  which  he  was  a  victim,  did  he  con- 
trast their  situations,  happy  in  the  bosom  of  their  fami- 
ly, with  his  own,  a  lonely  salaried  bachelor.  "  How 
much  it  costs  to  be  a  gentleman!"  thought  he. 

The  fifth,  and  next  youngest  child,  who  was  a 
daughter,  married  a  young  merchant  of  her  native 
village,  who  failed  the  following  year,  died  intempe- 
rate the  next  ensuing,  leaving  his  wife  and  two  chil- 
dren to  the  tender  mercies  of  her  parents  or  the 
world. 

The  sixth  child,  a  less  intelligent  and  active  boy 
than  his  brothers,  his  father  succeeded  in  retaining  in 
the  store:  this  being  the  portal  through  which  all  of 
them  made  their  debut  into  active  life.  He  soon  ac- 
quired the  habits  and  tastes  of  the  loungers  in  the 
store;  to  their  language  and  beastly  intoxication  he 
soon  became  familiarised;  and  imperceptibly  by  com- 
mencing with  cordials  and  sherbets,  he  acquired  a 
taste  for  ardent  spirits;  and  at  the  age  of  twenty-five, 
after  having  been  for  three  years  a  common  di'unkard, 
he  died  in  his  father's  house  of  mania  a  poiu. 

This,  reader,  is  no  fiction.     Name  and  locahties  are 


YANKEE  ARISTOCRACr.  53 

only  requisite  to  identify  those  facts  in  the  memories 
of  many,  with  the  history  of  a  family  now  almost  ex- 
tinct. Yet,  even  without  this  key,  too  ready  an  appli- 
cation of  it  may  be  made  to  numerous  families,  with- 
in the  observation  of  every  New  England  reader. 

Besides  Edward,  there  were  two  brothers  and  a  sis- 
ter, who  fortunately,  did  not  survive  long  enough  to 
become  either  lady  or  gentleman! 

Three  years  after  the  conversation  recorded  above, 
Edward  entered  the  sophomore  class  at  Cambridge. 
His  manners  were  polished,  his  address  winning,  his 
talents  of  a  high  order.  After  six  weeks  he  was  the 
most  popular  of  his  class,  both  with  the  faculty  and 
his  class-mates;  while  many  young  gentlemen  of  the 
upper  class  sought  his  acquaintance.  His  associates 
were  among  the  wealthiest  in  college;  his  good  nature, 
gentlemanly  air,  irresistible  wit,  and  high  standing  in 
liis  class,  rendered  his  society  universally  sought  alter. 

The  first  year,  his  bills  were  paid  by  his  father,  and 
he  was  allowed  fifty  dollars  daring  the  year  forspend- 
ing money.  This  he  laid  out  in  books,  tor  he  neither 
gambled,  nor  indulged  in  the  expensive  habits  Avliich 
could  be  afforded  by  others.  When  in  the  height  of 
his  prosperity  and  scholastic  fame,  a  letter  came  in 
reply  to  one  he  had  written  to  his  father  for  a  remit- 
tance, to  purchase  a  few  necessary  books,  stating  that 
"business  was  dull,  his  profits  small,  and  that  it  was 
more  expensive  at  college  than  he  supposed  it  would 
be!''  After  two  pages  of  advice  in  relation  to  the 
necessity  of  preserving  his  standing  as  a  gentleman, 
he  wound  up  with  the  suggestion,  "that  as  he  could 
not  afford  to  pay  such  large  bills  any  longer,  he  had 
best  work  the  rest  of  his  way  through  college  by 
keeping  school  during  the  vacations."  A  bank  note 
for  twenty  dollars  was  enclosed,  with  the  intimation 
"  that  he  must  expect  but  little  more  assistance  from 
him,  as  he  had  his  two  brothers  and  sisters  to  educate; 
that  he  was  getting  old,  and  times  were  hard." 
5* 


54  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  picture  the  mortification  of 
a  sensitive,  high-minded  young  man,  at  such  an  an- 
nouncement. Minor  accounts  usually  liquidated  at 
the  same  time,  were  also  unpaid.  But  these  diffi- 
culties, though  instantly  occurring  to  his  mind,  did  not 
so  much  affect  him  as  the  sudden  change  this  conduct 
of  his  father  must  produce  in  his  situation.  Educated 
like  a  gentleman,  his  most  intimate  associates  had  been 
with  those  young  aristocrats  of  the  college  who  had 
wealth  to  support  their  pretensions.  With  the  "  bene- 
Jiciaines,^^  these  noble-minded  young  men,  who  seek 
science  through  her  most  thorny  parts,  those  of  pov- 
erty and  contumely,  he  had  never  associated — they 
were  a  species  of  literary  operatives,  whom  he  had 
not  yet  decided  whether  to  class  as  mechanics  or  gen- 
tlemen. He  groaned  bitterly  as  he  felt  he  was  de- 
graded to  their  caste.  It  was  late  at  night  when  he 
received  the  letter,  and  after  pacing  the  room  a  long 
time  in  mental  agitation,  he  seized  his  hat  and  hasten- 
ed to  the  president's  room.  The  usual  lamp  shone  in 
the  window;  he  tapped  lightly  at  the  door  and  enter- 
ed. The  venerable  Doctor  Kirken,  who  was  engag- 
ed over  his  desk,  raised  his  head  and  politely  invited 
him  to  be  seated. 

Edward  laid  his  father's  letter  upon  the  desk,  say- 
ing hastily,  "A  letter  from  my  father,  sir." 

The  president  read  it,  and  shook  his  head,  as  if  dis- 
pleased at  its  contents. 

"  I  sympathise  with  you,  Belden.  This  is  not  the 
first  case  of  the  kind  I  have  met  with  since  my  con- 
nection whh  this  institution.  This  infatuation  among 
the  class  to  which  yonr  father  belongs,  of  making  gen- 
tlemen of  their  sons,  when  they  cannot  allow  them  the 
means  to  sustain  the  rank  of  such,  has  been  the  ruin 
of  many  promising  young  men.  It  is  a  mistaken  no- 
tion, and  one  fruitful  with  the  most  baneful  conse- 
quences, that  a  youth  to  be  made  a  gentleman  of,  must 
become  a  member  of  one  of  the  learned  professions; 


YANKEE  ARISTOCRACY.  55 

and  that  to  be  a  member  of  one  of  these,  he  must 
first  pass  through  college.  It  is  a  mischievous  error, 
and  must  be  eradicated.  It  is  daily  doing  incalcula- 
ble injury  to  society.  Experience  must  soon  teach 
such  persons  the  unsoundness  of  the  position  they 
have  assumed,  and  convince  tliem,  that  an  independ- 
ent farmer  or  mechanic  (which  all  may  become  who 
will)  is  intrinsically  a  better  gentleman  and  a  far  more 
useful  member  of  society,  than  an  impoverished  law- 
yer or  doctor,  or  a  minister  who  has  become  such  that 
he  may  be  one  in  the  ranks  of  (to  use  an  English 
term,  for  which,  in  America,  we  neither  have  or  should 
have  a  corresponding  word)  the  ^  gentry.^ '' 

The  president  concluded  by  giving  him  much  judi- 
cious advice  for  his  future  conduct  in  life,  and  the 
young  man  took  his  leave  and  went  forth  into  the 
world,  alone,  friendless,  and  almost  moneyless. 

We  briefly  pass  over  h^s  short  and  laihappy  career. 
He  went  to  New  York,  where  he  remained  several 
weeks,  seeking  some  genteel  employment,  (for  of  any 
mechanical  trade  or  art,  he  was  totally  ignorant.)  At 
length,  a  situation  offered,  after  he  had  spent  his  last 
dollar  in  paying  for  an  advertisement  applying  for  a 
clerkship  or  tutorship. 

The  subsequent  events  in  the  lile  of  Edward  Bel- 
d(  n,  (save  the  ni}  stery  that  still  hangs  over  the  place 
of  his  exile,)  are  familiar  to  all  who  have  not  forgot- 
ten the  tragedy  which  a  short  time  ago  agitated  our 
great  commercial  metropolis,  and  filled  the  minds  of 
all  men  with  horror. 

This  brief  outline  of  what  could  easily  be  extended 
to  volumes,  is  written  to  expose  the  rottenness  of  a 
mischievous  custom,  founded  in  vanity  and  perpetuat- 
ed in  injustice  to  its  juvenile  victims,  which  reigns  all 
over  New  England.  Alas,  that  men  should  think  that 
because  they  give  their  sons  an  education,  they  must  of 
necessity,  make  professional  men  of  them,  or  suppose, 
if  they  wish  to  make  them  gentlemen  without  the 


56  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

trouble  and  expense  of  education,  that  they  must  make 
merchants  of  them! 

Let  every  parent,  whether  farmer  or  country  mer- 
chant, country  doctor,  country  lawyer,  or  country  par- 
son, if  he  have  five  sons,  educate  them  all  well  if  he 
ivill,  but  make  four  of  them  tillers  of  the  soil  or  mas- 
ters of  a  trade.  He  will  then  be  certain  of  having 
four  independent  sons  about  him.  If  he  have  seven 
daughters,  let  him  make  seven  good  milliners  and  man- 
tua  makers  of  them,  and  they  will  then  be  indepen- 
dent of  the  ordinary  vicissitudes  of  life.  Let  him  do 
this,  that  is,  provided  he  has  no  fortunes  to  leave  them. 
But  even  if  he  have,  still  it  would  be  better  for  them 
that  he  should  do  this,  than  if  he  should  leave  it  un- 
done. It  is  the  opposite  plan  to  this,  the  reaching  af- 
ter gentility  or  respectability^  as  it  is  termed,  for  Their 
children,  that  throngs  our  metropolitan  streets  with 
courtezans  and  inundates  all  cities  from  New  York  to 
New  Orleans  with  pennyless  adventurers. 


# 


THE  KELPIE  ROCK,  OR  UXDERCLIFF; 

A  LEGEND  OF  THE  HUDSON  HIGHLANDS. 


a^ 


^ 


^ 


77// 


THE  KELPIE  ROCK 


"  Fairy,  Fairy,  list  and  mark! 

Thou  hast  broken  thine  elfin  chain; 
Thy  flame-wood  lamp  is  quenched  and  dark. 
And  thy  wings  are  dyeii  with  a  deadly  stam — 
Thou  hast  sullied  thine  elfin  purity 

In  the  glance  of  a  mortal  maiden's  eye!" 

The  Culprit  Fay,  Canto,  VII. 

Thus  happily  did  they  pursue  their  course,  until  they  <ntered  upon  those 
awful  defiles,  denominated  the  Hightands.  where  it  would  seem  that  the  gi- 
gantic Titans  had  erst  waged  their  impious  war  with  heaven,  piling  up  clifl":* 
on  cliffs,  and  hurling  vast  masses  of  rocks  io  wild  confusion. —  The  History  of 
JVcjc  Y'ork,  by  Deidrick  Knickerbocker. 

So  long  as  we  have  the  inspired  poet  who  first 
struck  his  woodland  harp  among  the  Hudson  High- 
lands, and  suns  of  fairy  land  and  the  two  vast  lahors 
of  the  Culprit  Fay so  long  as  we  have  that  veri- 
table historian  and  authentic  chronicler  of  great  sublu- 
nary events,  the  profound  and  erudite  Deidrick  Knick- 
erbocker— be  his  memory  thrice  honored! — to  stand 
by  us  in  support  of  our  legend,  which  is  not  a  jot  less 
true  than  his  own  veracious  history,  we  do  not  care  a 
whifi'  of  tobacco-smoke,  if  the  incredulous  and  the 
critics  believe  not  one  word  of  it.  We  have  fortified 
ourself  in  the  outset,  like  one  when  he  putteth  on  his 
armor  for  the  battle,  with  a  quotation  from  this  sweet 


60  THE  AMERICAN  LOUXGER. 

poet  of  fairy  land,  and  another  from  the  pen,  dipped 
in  Hybla,  of  this  great  man  and  learned  historian,  and 
feel  that  confidence  whhin,  which  inspireth  courage, 
and  that  will  enable  us  to  hold  out  stoutly  to  the  last. 
It  was  late  one  August  day,  after  a  fruitless  hunt 
for  game  through  the  wild  ravines  and  along  the 
heights  of"  Ball  Hill,"  that  emerging  from  a  forest  of 
oak  and  larch,  I  found  myself  upon  the  summit  of  the 
lofty  clitf,  which,  with  a  sheer  fall  of  a  thousand  feet 
to  the  verdant  plateau  beneath,  ternrinates  the  range 
of  eastern  highlands  above  West  Point,  to  the  south. 
The  wide  and  glorious  scenes  that  burst  upon  my 
sight,  fixed  me  like  a  statue.  The  Hudson  lay  at  my 
feet,  completely  land-locked — a  lake  sleeping  among 
mountains — looking  like  a  mirror  of  polished  steel. 
Old  Cro'nest  lifted  his  "  shaggy  breast"  from  its 
bosom,  and  hid  his  hoary  head  in  a  cloud  which  had 
lazily  rolled  half-way  down  his  sides.  West  Point, 
with  its  lovely  plain,  its  snowy  tents,  its  charming 
villas,  seemed  like  a  picture  done  by  a  lady's  fingers, 
so  delicate  was  the  pencilling  of  each  outline,  so  ex- 
quisite the  play  of  lights  and  shadows.  From  the 
height  above,  ••'  Old  Put,"  looked  down  with  a  pro- 
tecting air — Avith  his  hoary  front  and  war-worn  look 
— a  fine  feature  in  the  far  and  varied  scene.  At  my 
feet  lay  the  quiet  and  picturesque  village  of  Cold 
Spring.  Its  dusty  streets,  with  a  group  of  children  at 
play,  a  goodwife  with  an  apron  over  her  head,  cross- 
ing to  a  neighbor's;  a  wagon,  with  a  solitary  occu- 
pant slowly  wending  toward  Iiis  farm;  a  cow,  lounsr- 
ing  homeward  at  her  leisure,  whisking  her  lone  tall, 
and  doubtless  chewing  her  cud  in  peace  and  content- 
ment; its  little  cove  sprinkled  with  boats:  a  single  sloop 
unloading  at  the  wharf,  where  one  or  two  Tittle  ur- 
chins are  fishing  for  cat-fish;  its  chapel,  romantically 
perched  on  a  rock  overhanging  the  water,  all  present- 
ing a  lively  contrast  to  the  dark,  solemn  majesty  of 
the  surrounding  highlands. 


THE  KELPIE   ROCK.  61 

At  the  very  base  of  the  cliff,  and  seemingly  so  near 
tliat  I  could  have  dropped  a  St.  Nicholas-^' '^ry/i  ban 
adowii  its  chimneys,  in  the  centre  of  a  wide  verdant 
plateau,  sloping  to  the  water,  lay,  like  a  map  open 
upon   my  palm,  Undercliff,  the  romantic  seat  o 

General ,  with  its  noble  villa,  its  gardens,  its 

fountains,  its  pleasant  groves  and  its  winding  avenues, 
all  exposed,  as  they  would  be  to  the  eye  of  a  bird  in 
its  empyrean  flight. 

Tliere  was  not  a  breath  of  air  to  fan  a  lady's  check, 
or  stir  a  child's  ringlets.  The  lake-like  Hudson  was 
a  mirror,  and  old  Cro'nest  threw  his  "  huge,  gray 
form,'' 

"  ill  a  dark-blue  cone  on  the  wave  below." 

A  far-extended  fleet  of  vessels  was  dispersed  upon  the 
water — their  idle  sails  furled  to  the  slender  yards,  or 
drooping  gracefully  from  the  masts — waiting  the  eve- 
ning breeze.  So  clear  was  the  element  on  which  they 
were  suspended,  that  beneath  each,  another  was  seen, 
its  ropes,  spars,  even  the  sailors  moviiig  about,  so  ac- 
curately copied,  that  it  could  not  be  told  from  its  fel- 
lows, save  that  the  wrong  end  was  upwards.  Occa- 
sionally, a  light  skiff,  with  a  single  oarsman,  would 
shoot  from  the  shore  and  dart  along  this  mirror,  leav- 
ing a  widening  wake  of  tiny  waves  to  sport  and 
glance  their  little  minute  in  the  sun-light.  Just  before 
me,  in  a  romantic  inlet,  called  Kelpie  Cove,  with  a 
vast  rock  lying  solitary  on  its  curving  beach,  a  family 
of  geese,  whiter  than  snow,  sailed  gracefully  along, 
wheeling  about  at  times,  now  facing  the  land,  now  the 
open  river,  as  if  expecting  an  attack,  and  were  pre- 
pared to  meet  it. 

On  looking  again  toward  old  Cro'nest,  I  observed 

the  fleecy  cloud  which  I  had  seen  sluggishly  rolling 

down  its  sides,  gradually  to  assume  a  darker  hue,  and 

to  shoot  oft'  from  the  mountain:  and  then  it  slowly 

6 


62  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

sailed  through  the  air  towards  tlie  difF  on  which  I 
stood;  and  nearly  on  a  level  with  my  eye.  Soon  other 
clouds  from  the  hills  to  the  north  and  west,  also  came 
sweeping  majestically  along,  at  the  same  level,  and  in 
a  few  moments  the  summit  of  the  cliff  was  enveloped, 
and  the  river,  with  the  rich  pictures  painted  on  it,  gra— 
dually  disappeared  in  a  veil  of  mist,  as  the  scenes  on 
a  magic  mirror  fade  before  the  waving  wand  of  the 
magician. 

For  a  moment  I  was  as  bewildered  as  if  sudden 
blindness  had  come  upon  me.  The  union  of  the  seve- 
ral masses,  which  came  trooping  along  as  if  to  a  storm- 
gathering,  momentarily  increased  the  density  of  the 
cloud,  which  at  first  was  so  rare,  that  I  could  see  twice 
the  length  of  my  gun,  whereas  I  now  could  touch  a 
tree  and  not  see  it.  The  heavy  moisture  saturated  my 
garments,  and  run  off  the  barrel  off  my  fowling  piece 
in  a  trickhng  stream. 

It  occurred  to  me  that  I  must  be  in  the  lowest  stra- 
tum of  the  clouds,  which,  on  approaching,  did  not  ap- 
pear to  hang  six  feet  lower  than  my  position.  I  re- 
membered that,  not  far  off,  there  was  a  cleft  which 
with  a  bold  descent,  obliquely  approached  a  lower 
shelf  of  the  cliff.  With  some  difficulty  I  found  it,  and 
cautiously  descended.  I  had  advanced  thirty  feet, 
and  was  still  within  the  cloud,  which,  on  touching  the 
mountain,  had  settled  heavily  about  its  summit,  when, 
all  at  once,  it  rolled  up  like  a  curtain,  and  the  scene 
below  once  more  burst  upon  my  sight.  The  under 
surface  of  the  clouds  stretched  away  to  the  opposite 
mountain,  discolored  with  a  dark,  murky  hue,  and 
were  rolling  and  heaving  like  an  inverted  sea.  They 
cast  over  the  landscape  a  sombre  shade,  giving  a  wild 
and  cheerless  aspect  to  the  face  of  Nature  before  so 
smiling.  Through  an  opening  in  their  dark  bosom, 
there  suddenly  shot  a  bright,  glorious  beam  of  golden 
sunshine.  It  fell  upon  the  water  where  a  vessel  was 
furling  her  canvass  to  encounter  the  br-ewing  tempest, 


THE   KELPIE   KOCK.  63 

and  gave  to  the  white  sails,  contrasted  with  the  sur- 
rounding gloom,  a  lustre  as  if  overlaid  with  burnished 
gold.  Slowly  passing  off  from  this  solitary  object, 
leaving  it,  to  the  eye,  almost  black  from  the  sudden 
contrast,  it  travelled  across  t'le  water,  gilded  the  roof 
of  the  Chapel  of  the  Rock,  "  Our  Lady  of  Cold  Spring," 
and  then  the  envious  clouds  closing  up,  shut  it  in,  and 
it  disappeared. 

The  spot  on  which  I  now  stood  was  a  shelf,  about 
thirty  feet  lower  than  the  highest  part  of  the  cliff,  and 
had  the  appearance  of  an  excavation  made  by  the 
falling  of  a  detached  fragment.  There  remained  be- 
neath, however,  no  traces  of  a  fragment  one  twentieth 
part  large  enough  to  have  filled  the  space.  After  giv- 
ing the  subject  a  moment's  thought,  and  saying,  half 
aloud,  "  By  St.  Nicholas,  I  should  like  to  know  how 
this  cavity  was  formed!"  I  turned  to  retrace  my  steps, 
and  gain  the  delightful  shelter  of  Undercliff,  which, 
although  it  seemed  as  if  I  could  lay  my  hand  upon  its 
balconies,  it  would  take  a  good  mile's  stout  walking 
to  reach.  The  thunder  already  muttered  audibly  in 
the  distance,  and  the  clouds  threatened  every  moment 
to  break  out  into  rain.  My  situation  was  one  of  sub- 
limity, and  I  was  at  one  time  tempted  to  remain  and 
outbreast  the  storm — companion  of  the  lightning  and 
thunder;  but  there  was  no  sublimity  in  a  wet  jacket, 
and  so  I  shouldered  my  gun,  and  turned  to  go.  JNIy 
retreat  was  unexpectedly  and  strangely  intercepted. 

On  a  projecting  lap  of  the  rock,  and  directly  in 
the  narrow  path  by  which  I  had  descended,  was  seat- 
ed a  singular  looking  being,  but  evidently  of  flesh  and 
blood,  from  the  rosy  hue  of  his  ample  cheeks,  and  the 
energy  with  which  lie  ejected  currents  of  tobacco- 
smoke,  now  throngli  either  orifice  of  his  carbuncled 
iiose,  now  through  both,  now  from  between  his  lips, 
which  quietly  closed  over  the  stem  of  a  fair  long 
pipe,  of  the  days  of  Peter  the  Headstrong.  Volumi- 
nous brown  trunk-hose  encased  his  capacious  ribs,  and 


64  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

Flemish  boots  were  rolled  around  his  ample  calves.  A 
green  jerkin,  of  a  queer,  old-fashioned  cut,  covered  his 
upper  man,  and  studiously  left  open  in  front,  displayed 
a  broad  Flemish  ruff,  soiled  with  tobacco-sniDke.  A 
high, peaked  hat,  briskly  cocked  in  front,  and  surmount- 
ed by  a  rusty  plume,  he  wore  jauntly  on  one  side  of 
his  head.  One  hand  rested  upon  an  antiquated  spy- 
glass, which  lay  across  his  knees,  and  he  had  a  cock 
in  his  left  eye,  as  if  he  was  still  spying.  I  should  have 
mentioned,  also,  that  a  brace  of  enormous  pistols, 
with  rusty  locks,  and  barrels,  were  stuck  in  his  belt, 
and  a  whinyard,  half  a  fathom  in  length,  hung  by  his 
left  thigh.  Altogether  he  was  a  very  formidable  and 
truculent-looking  personage,  especially,  to  be  encoun- 
tered in  so  wild  a  spot. 

He  permitted  me  to  survey  him  from  head  to  foot; 
while,  shutting  one  eye,  he  deliberately,  with  the 
other,  took  the  same  liberty  with  me.  He  then  dis- 
tended his  cheeks  with  smoke  till  they  were  as  round 
and  sleek  as  a  pippin,  then  emitted  it  from  either  cor- 
ner of  his  mouth  and  both  nostrils,  and,  as  it  seemed 
to  me,  also  from  his  ears  and  eye,  so  multitudinous 
were  the  currents — so  dense  the  volume  of  smoke  that 
rolled  from  him.  It  soon  hid  his  head,  and  all  but 
the  tip  of  his  rusty  plume,  which  I  could  see  nodding 
at  me  above  it,  the  twinkling  of  his  gray  eye,  and  the 
gleam  of  his  fiery  proboscis,  which  I  could  discern 
glowing  through  it  like  the  end  of  a  stout,  red-hot 
poker.  He  at  length  spoke,  and  his  voice  seemed  to 
come  from  the  mouth  of  a  speaking-trumpet,  though 
it  had  a  tone  that  was  meant  to  be  courteous. 

''Youvas  vish,  mynheer,  how  in  der  duyvil  von 
rock  pe  proke  vrom  de  kliff,  here,  an  no  pe  to  de  pot- 
tom,  dere?*^ 

He  then  puffed  away  within  his  cloud,  and  seemed 
to  await  my  remarks.  I  was  not  altogether  at  my 
ease,  and  was  doubtful  of  my  company;  I  neverthe- 
less spoke  confidently: 


THE   KELPIE   ROCK.  65 

"  I  merely  expressed  a  passing  wish,"  I  said,  care- 
lessly; "but,  nevertheless,  should  be  glad  to  have  my 
curiosity  gratified.  You  have  the  advantage  of  me 
with  your  telescope,"  I  added,  wishing  to  draw  him 
out,  and  to  show  him  that  I  was  nothing  dashed  at 
his  sudden  appearance  and  fierce  aspect.  "  I  see  you 
are  a  judicious  rambler.  Distant  scenery,  after  the 
surprise  of  the  first  coup-d-c£il,  should  always  be 
viewed  in  detail.  For  this  a  spy-glass  is  most  essen- 
tial.    A  happy  thought  in  you,  sir." 

"  By  St.  Nicholas,  mynheer,  I  know  every  shtone 
in  de  Highlants  petter  nor  mine  pipe.  I  hash  not  put 
dish  shpy-klass  to  mine  eyes  ror  more  dan  two  hun- 
tret  ant  vivteen  years." 

"Two  hundred  and  fifteen  years!"  I  repeated  with 
umningled  astonishment,  and  a  slight  degree  of  alarm, 
casting,  as  I  took  a  step  backward,  a  suspicious  glance 
at  each  of  his  feet,  which,  much  to  my  relief  and  grati- 
fication, were,  I  observed,  both  well-shaped,  and,  save 
being  rather  broad  and  large  across  the  toes,  as  we 
often  see  those  of  fLit  gentlemen,  unexceptionable. 

He  made  no  reply  to  my  exclamation,  but  puffed 
away  in  composure  and  in  silence.  The  sunset  gun 
from  the  military  post,  at  this  instant  reverberated 
among  the  Highlands,  starting  a  thousand  echoes, 
which  grew  fainter  and  fainter  as  one  answered  to 
the  other,  till  they  died  away  far  to  the  north,  like  the 
distant  growling  of  thunder.  Then  the  hoarse  voice 
of  my  companion  was  heard  from  the  cloud  of  blue 
vapor  in  which  his  upper  man  was  enveloped. 

"  Tunder  and  blickzens !  ven  I  vaked  dese  echoesh 
de  first  time  two  huntret  and  venty  years  ago,  mit  de 
guns  of  de  Halve  Mane,  more  nor  ten  tousant  eaglish 
vas  scared  vrom  de  kUffs!  Dere  is  only  dat  one  left 
now!"  he  said,  pointing  with  a  jerk  of  his  spy-glass 
to  a  noble,  white-headed  eagle,  sailing  through  the  air 
a  hundred  feet  below  us.     "  Dis  gap  vas  not  here  den 

6» 


66  THE  ArvIERICAN  LOU>'GER. 

neider.     Dat  creat  rock  dere  vas  den  on  dis  klifF  vere 
ve  stant/*' 

He  extended  the  end  of  his  telescope  through  the 
smoke,  m  the  direction  of  an  inlet  of  the  river,  which 
gracefully  curved  towards  the  foot  of  the  cliff,  in  the 
shape  of  a  crescent.  Its  northern  horn  terminated  in  a 
bold,  rocky  headland,  extending  far  into  the  water;  its 
southern  boundary  was  a  low,  verdant  tongue  of  land, 
with  a  shelving,  sandy  beach,  and  terminating  in  a 
rude  pier-head,  crowned  by  the  whhe  parsonage  of 
the  village  pastor.  On  the  smooth  beach,  conspicuous 
and  alone,  reposed  a  vast  rock,  or  boulder,  of  n:iany 
tons  weight,  the  same  I  had  before  noticed.  At  low- 
tides  it  was  many  yards  from  the  water,  at  high-tide 
the  waves  flowed  around  it.  Its  shape  was  irregular. 
It  lay  far  from  any  other  rocks,  and  a  third  of  a  mile 
from  the  cliff.  Past  it  wound  the  road  to  Fishkill,  and 
the  plateau,  which  here  gently  inclined  to  the  beach, 
was  verdant.  Its  position  there  was  evidently  acci- 
dental. I  gazed  upon  the  rocks  several  seconds,  took 
its  shape  in  my  eye,  and  turned  to  apply  it  mentally 
to  the  cavity  in  which  we  stood,  yet  I  could  arrive  at 
no  satisfactory  result.  He  saw  my  perplexity,  and 
said,  coolly: — 

"  Dat  rock  was  vonce  in  dis  place,  mynheer.  Ash 
you  vish  to  know,  I  vill  tell  you  de  storish/' 

"  By  all  means,"  1  said,  forgetting  the  gathering 
storm,  the  thickening  twilight,  and  the  mystery  hang- 
ing about  my  companion,  in  my  curiosity  to  hear  a 
veritable  legend,  from  a  source  seemingly  so  well  en- 
titled to  do  it  justice.  Moreover,  if  I  had  desired  to 
beat  a  retreat,  the  antiquated  stranger  had  so  com- 
pletely monopohsed  the  only  avenue  of  escape  with 
his  bulky  form,  and  seemed  so  quietly  to  enjoy  his 
seat,  that  I  doubt,  if  I  had  made  the  attempt,  it  would 
have  succeeded,  even  if  it  had  been  safe,  of  which  I 
also  have  my  own  opmion.  I  therefore  seated  myself 
opposite  to  him,  on  a  fragment  of  the  rock,  and  pre- 


THE  KELPIE  ROCK.  67 

pared  to  listen.  The  elements  favored  a  story  of  dia- 
blerie,  as  I  anticipated  this  to  be.  The  lightning 
vividly  illuminated  the  vast  fields  of  clouds,  and  the 
thunder  bellowed  among  the  opposite  mountains,  and 
rumbled  through  the  long  ranges  of  hills  in  ceaseless 
reverberations."  After  one  or  Two  prefatory  whiffs,  he 
took  his  pipe  from  his  lips,  whereupon  the  cloud  of 
smoke  slowly  ascended  from  below  his  face,  and  min- 
gled with  the  cloud  a  few  feet  above  our  heads,  dis- 
playing a  good-humored  physiognomy,  with  the  roy- 
sterring,  devil-me-care  look  of  a  merry  Dutch  skipper, 
who  loves  to  smoke  his  pipe,  drink  schiedam,and  tell 
a  long  story.  Settling  himself  more  at  ease  on  his 
seat,  he  then  commenced  his  narration,  which  I  give 
word  for  word  as  he  related  it,  saving  here  and  there 
the  substitution  of  the  king's  English  for  his  peculiar 
phraseology. 

"  That  vast  and  rugged  boulder  you  see  in  Kelpie 
Cove,  looking  so  lonely  and  so  out  of  place,  the  fair, 
smooth  beach,  and  springing  grass  around  it,  goes  by 
the  name  of  KELPIE  ROCK,  and,  within  my  me- 
mory was  a  portion  of  this  cliff.  You  doubtless  may 
have  heard  that  from  the  oldest  time,  these  highlands 
were  the  abode  of  ogres,  kelpies,  and  other  superhu- 
man, yet  earthly  beings;— that  when  they  dwelt  among 
these  mountains,  a  lake,  and  not,  as  now,  a  river, 
reflected  their  huge  sides.  The  lake  and  highlands, 
which  shut  it  in,  were  also  the  prison-house  of  evil 
demons,  and  the  dark  spirits,  who,  from  time  to  time, 
had  rebelled  against  their  master.  Here  were  they 
penned  up  until  the  time  approached  that  this  new 
world  was  to  become  the  inheritance  of  the  children 
of  the  old.  Then  were  they  all  unbound,  for  the  good 
spirit  had  designed  their  vast  abodes  for  mortals;  but 
they  murmuring  and  rebelling  at  this  decree,  he  bound 
them  in  eternal  chains,  and  confined  them  in  horrid 
dungeons,  in  that  adamantine  prison,  now  called  the 
Palisadoes.     They  are  there  walled  up  to  the  light  of 


63  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

heaven,  and  although  above  the  earth  are  unable  to' 
behold  it.  There  are  they  doomed  to  pass  their  pain- 
ful years  in  hideous  clamors  and  howl  and  yell  away 
their  dreadful  bondage.  The  giants,  ogres,  gnomes, 
and  kelpies,  he  suffered  to  remain,  yet  bound  them  by 
certain  laws;  then  opening  the  hills  that  walled  it  in 
toward  the  south,  he  let  the  waters  of  the  lake  seek 
the  distant  sea.  I'earful  was  the  roar,  and  loud  the 
clamor  of  the  imprisoned  demons,  when,  from  their 
gloomy  cells,  they  heard  the  roar  of  its  wild  v/aters, 
as  in  one  vast  flood  the  unchained  lake  rolled  thun- 
dering past  their  dark  abodes,  washiig  their  founda- 
tions for  many  a  league.  Now  it  was  that  the  titans, 
the  gnomes,  the  kelpies,  the  giants,  and  the  ogres,  be- 
came greatly  enraged  at  the  destruction  of  their  seclu- 
ded lake,  and  this  opening  of  their  fearful  haunts  to 
the  intrusion  of  daring  mortals.  Besides,  these  ma- 
levolent and  awfnl  beings,  perhaps  you  may  have 
heard  that  in  the  mountain  opposite,  the  queen  of  fai- 
ries holds  her  elfin  court.  Fairies,  who  are  beings  of 
a  gentle  nature,  and  favor  mortals,  and  the  geniijVho 
are  stern,  implacable,  and  f  erce,  and  hate  "mankind, 
are  always  hostile  toward  one  another,  and  let  no 
chance  escape  of  showing  their  ill-wilL  Now,  it  was, 
that  after  the  lake  was  changed  into  a  river,  wide  and 
vast,  as  now  it  rolls,  the  Europeans  had  laid  their 
hands  upon  this  continent  as  a  new  and  bounteous 
gift  from  nature,  and  their  ships  had  entered  this 
river's  mouth,  that  a  young  fay,  called  Erlin,  a  favor- 
ite page  of  the  fairy  queen,  was  swiftly  flying  through 
the  air,  his  wings  glittering  like  silver,  ibr  it  was  a 
moonlight  night,  when  he  espied  a  little  vessel  gliding 
along  between  the  river  shores,  with  all  its  canvass 
spread  to  the  favoring  breeze.  His  curiosity  at  the 
novel  sight  was  instantly  aroused,  for  he  had  never 
seen  a  vessel,  and  thought,  at  first,  it  was  a  large  white 
bird.  After  surveying  it  curiously  for  a  t'lme,  he 
folded  up  his  purple  wings,  and  descended  like  an 


THE   KELPIE   ROCK.  69 

arro\r.  He  hovered  long  above  it,  with  mineled  won- 
der, fear,  and  admhation.  At  length,  having  gratified 
his  curiosity,  he  was  about  to  mount  again  to  the 
upper  regions  of  the  air,  when  there  appeared  upon 
the  deck^a  beauteous  virgm,  her  fair  head  rich  with 
clustering  ringlets  of  elossy  brown;  a  mouth,  dimpled 
over  with  the  play  of  merry  smiles;  a  cheek,  in  which 
the  lily  and  the  rose  exquisitely  were  blended;  and  a 
form,  for  sylph-like  symmetry  and  female  grace,  he 
thought  was  every  whit  as  perfect  as  that  of  fairy 
queen.  Altogether,  he  was  convinced  that  she  was 
the  most  radiant  being  he  had  ever  seen,  and  forth- 
with became  enamored  of  her.  He  hovered  around 
her,  invisible,  till  he  began  to  fear  he  should  be  called 
to  answer  for  his  prolonged  stay,  for  he  was  bound  on 
diplomatic  business  to  an  elfin  court,  far  distant,  when 
the  barque  of  Hendrick  Hudson  arrested  him  in  his 
arrow V  flisht." 

"Hendrick  Hudson!"  I  exclaimed;  "it  was  then 
the  vessel  of  this  great  navigator?" 

''  It  vas,  mynheer,"  he  answered  complacently,  and 
nodding  with  the  gratified  air  of  a  man  who  has  re- 
ceived a  flattering  compliment,  putting  the  long  stem 
of  his  pipe  in  hrs  month,  and  taking  half  a.  dozen 
quick,  short  whiffs,  to  keep  the  fire  in  the  bowl  from 
going  out,  "  ant  te  young  laty  vas  hish  taughter." 

"  I  have  often  heard  of  Henry  Hudson's  lovely 
daughter,"  said  I. 

"When  the  Fay  Erlin  returned  to  his  mistress,"  he 
continued,  after  having  slowly  emhted  from  one  cor- 
ner of  his  mouth  a  slender  thread  of  smoke,  which 
curled  gracefully  upward  like  a  wreath  of  mist,  and 
mingled  with  the  cloud,  "  the  queen  sharply  inquired 
why^he  had  lingered  on  the  way.  He  invented  a 
ready  lie,  as  pages  are  used  to  do,  and  so  for  the  pre- 
sent, escaped;  for  you  must  know  either  fay  or  fairy 
who  s^lances  on  mortal  with  an  eye  of  love,  breaks  its 
elfin  bond,  and  is,  in  a  manner,  guilty  of  high  treason 


70  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

The  penalty  of  an  offence  so  dire  is  weighty,  and  pro- 
portioned to  its  enormity;  the  culprit's  lamp  is  extin- 
guished, wliich  is  the  same  thing  as  the  hreaking  of 
the  criminal's  sword  by  a  mortal  king;  and  its  purple 
and  silver  wings  are  st;iined  with  dark  unsightly  hncs, 
which  is  eqnivalent  to  the  blotting  out  of  the  escutch- 
eon of  an  attainted  noble.  Besides  these  marks  of 
degradatio'i,  they  are  also  punished  by  the  imposition 
of  severe  and  ponderous  tasks. 

"The  little  vessel  continued  slowly  to  ascend,  an- 
choring each  night  with  cautious  fear,  for  it  was  enter- 
ing a  gloomy  region,  wild  and  vast,  and  all  unknown. 
Tlie  Fay  Erlin,  impatient  to  beiiold  once  more  the  fair 
and  beauteous  mortal,  who  from  his  faith  and  sworn 
allegiance  to  his  queen,  had  seduced  him,  stole  from 
the  court,  spread  his  purple  wings,  and  glancing 
through  the  moonlight  like  an  arrow  shot  by  Dian, 
lighted  in  an  instant  after  on  this  cliff.  From  it,  as 
you  can  see,  the  eye  in  looking  south,  takes  in  the 
river  for  niany  a  mile.  The  white  sails  of  the  ap- 
proaching vessel  glimmering  in  the  distance  as  the 
moon  shone  down  upon  them,  caught  his  eager  sight. 
His  little  heart  bounded  wildly  with  the  joy  he  felt,  and 
opening  wide  hisplnmes,  he  was  about  to  fly  towards 
it,  when  a  low,  deep  muttering,  mingled  with  horrid 
sounds,  fell  upon  his  ears.  He  balanced  himself  on 
his  half-spread  wings  and  listened  to  the  uproar,  which 
seemed  to  come  from  the  bowels  of  the  cliff.  This 
cliff  is  hollow,  and  was  then  the  council  chamber 
where  the  fearful  beings  I  have  before  made  mention 
of,  held  their  dark  and  direful  consultations,  and  plan- 
ned and  plotted  mischief  against  the  human  race. 
Erlin  bent  his  ear  an  instant  to  the  ground,  and  bod- 
ing danger  from  their  secret  councils  to  the  lovely  mor- 
tal, he  stole  softly  along,  and  entering  the  cave  with 
noiseless  step  and  wing,  beheld  themto  his  wonder,  all 
in  full  assembly. 

'•  There  was  an  ogre  with  a  flaming  eye,  a  horrid 


THE   KELPIE   ROCK.  71 

aspect,  and  hideous  form,  who,  in  a  vast,  black  cavern 
under  Old  Cro'nest  made  his  abode,  growling  and 
grumbhng  if  the  thunder  chanced  to  break  his  after- 
dinner  nap,  and  shake  his  house.  There  was  a  gnome, 
to  mortal  eyes  invisible,  but  whom  Erlin  saw  in  all 
her  fearful  power;  in  whose  awful  form  beauty  and 
hideousness  were  strangely  blended,  whose  eyes  were 
lamps,  whose  limbs  were  writhing  serpents,  whose 
wings  were  like  a  bat's,  whose  face  and  bosom  sur- 
passed in  loveliness  the  lovehest  of  mortals.  Tiiere 
is  a  single  grotto  beneath  the  cliff  in  Kosciusco's  gar- 
den, noV  hid  from  human  eye;  that  was  her  abode. 
There  was  a  kelpie,  with  a  human  head,  and  breast, 
shaggy  and  hideous,  and  clothed  with  hair;  m  size  he 
was  a  leviathan.  He  haunted  the  rocks  and  beach  of 
Kelpie  Cove,  and  lived  in  caves  beneath  the  water. 

"There  was  a  giant,  of  enormous  stature;  along 
black  beard  and  a  fierce  mustache,  made  his  wild  as- 
pect still  more  fierce.  He  leaned  upon  a  sapling,  torn 
up  by  the  roots,  which  served  him  both  for  staff  and 
weapon.  There  were  besides,  whom  also  Erlin  saw, 
beings  still  more  wonderful  and  monstrous  both  in 
shape  and  size.  He  gatliered  from  their  speech  and 
clamors,  that  the  rumor  of  the  coming  ship  had  readied 
their  ears,  and  that  they  now  were  met  in  council  to 
devise  some  present  means  of  averting  from  their 
heads  the  impending  evil. 

"'  If,'  said  the  osre,  roUing  as  he  spoke,  his  only 
eye,  which,  set  in  the  middle  of  his  forehead,  glared 
strangely,  all  over  the  assembly,  and  making  most  hi- 
deous grimaces,  while  his  voice  rumbled  like  an  earth- 
quake,"' if  we  permit  these  blue-eyed  mortals  to  enter 
our  abodes,  our  power  is  gone.  The  fairies  opposite 
are  troublesome  enough  to  us.  I  cannot  sleep  of 
moonlieiit  nights  for  their  dancing  and  capering  over 
my  head.  There  is  the  queen's  page,  Erhn,  a  mere 
hop-o-my-thumb,  who  loves  mischief  as  he  does  moon- 
shine, shoots  his  sharp  steel  arrows  into  my  eye  when 


73  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

I  sleep  after  sim-iip,  as  if  he  could  find  no  better 
mark.' 

" '  So,  ho!  grim  ogre!'  said  Erlin  to  himself;  '  I  owe 
you  one  for  that!' 

"  The  gnome  then  rose,  and  gleaming  with  her 
lamp-like  eyes  round  upon  each  one,  rested  them 
upon  the  ogre  as  he  took  his  seat,  and  then  spoke  in 
tones  half  hissing,  like  a  serpent,  and  half  articulate, 
like  a  sweet  female  voice. 

"  '  The  ogre  is  right.  These  mortals  must  not  pass 
the  old  barrier  which  confined  the  river  when  a  lake. 
The  ogre  is  again  right.  The  fairies  are  troublesome; 
they  are  always  fickle.  They  may  aid  the  mortals  to 
spite  us  whom  they  hate.  There  is  also  an  old  tradi- 
tion, 

Ogres,  giants,  kelpies,  gnomesi 
Fly — fly  your  ancient  homes! 
When  an  elf  shall  tlirice  defend 
A  maid  'gainst  whom  ye  all  contend, 
Then,  then  your  power  shall  endl' 

^'  The  giant  then  rose,  shook  himself,  and  in  a  voice 
of  thunder  delivered  the  following  speech: 

" '  It  is  my  opinion  we  destroy  these  mortals  with- 
out delay,  lest  the  fairies  put  their  finger  in,  and  spoil 
the  pie.' 

"The  kelpie,  in  a  shrill  voice,  which  sounded  like  a 
horse's  neigh,  save  that  it  was  shriller,  also  rose  to  say 
that  he  acquiesced  in  the  general  sentiments  of  his 
friends,  the  honorable  members  of  the  council.  Just 
at  this  moment,  a  huge,  lazy  than,  lounging  in  the  en- 
trance of  the  cavern,  said  that  a  strange  white  bird 
had  lit  upon  the  water.  '  The  Mortals!  the  mortals!' 
was  the  cry.  The  council  broke  up  in  hurry  and  con- 
fusion, and  the  members  made  for  the  outlet,  so  hasti- 
ly, that  Erlin  just  escaped,  through  his  great  alertness, 
from  being  drawn  into  the  vortex  of  the  ogre's  mouth 


THE  KELPIE  ROCK.  73 

as  he  inhaled  an  immense  draught  of  fresh  air.  while 
rushing  from  the  cave. 

"  When  they  gained  the  summit  of  the  cliff,  the  ad- 
venturous vessel  appeared  in  open  view,  bravely 
roundins  the  west  point  of  yonder  headland,  It  was 
a  fair  and  novel  sight  to  these  gaping,  wondering  mon- 
sters, to  see  her  ghde  along  like  a  living  creature  with 
snow-white  wings,  flinging  the  foam  about  her  prow, 
and  leaving  a  boiling  wake  stretching  far  behind. 
Erlin,  impatient  to  light  upon  her  deck,  did  neverthe- 
less restrain  the  impulse,  and  waited  unobserved  the 
motions  of  the  group,  himself  concealed  in  the  vel- 
vet folds  of  a  mullen  leaf. 

*•' The  gnome  proposed  flying  from  the  cliff,  lifting 
the  vessel  in  mid-air,  and  dashing  it  on  the  rocks. 
This  was  approved  unanimously.  Erlin  gained  the 
bark  before  her  and  balanced  himself  upon  the  truck. 
The  gnome  could  not  raise  it  an  inch,  and  defeated 
flew  back  again  enraged.  The  ogre  was  for  creating 
a  storm.  The  waves  began  to  roar  and  the  winds  to 
whistle  around  the  lonely  bark:  but  it  sailed  on  unharm- 
ed, for  the  elf  was  there  perched  upon  the  yard,  protect- 
ins:  his  lovely  mistress.  The  giant  tore  up  a  vast  tree  to 
hurl  at  it,  but  could  not  lift  it^rom  the  earth,  for  Erlin 
sat  upon  it.  Great  was  their  rage  at  these  repeated  de- 
feats. They  knew  their  foes,  the  fairies  were  at  work; 
and  the  prophetic  rhymes  the  gnome  had  spoken,  made 
them  quake  with  fear  that  their  time  had  come.  The 
kelpie,  in  his  fierce  and  boundless  wrath,  struck  the 
cliff'  with  a  violent  blow  of  his  hoof  and  loosened  a 
huge  fragment  covered  with  earth  and  trees.  It  was 
falling,  to  be  dashed  in  atoms  at  the  base,  wdien  the 
titan  l^eized  it  with  both  his  hands,  whirled  it  round 
about  his  head,  with  a  roar  like  a  hurricane,  and  hurl- 
ed it  through  the  air  with  deadliest  aim  toward  the 
fated  vessel  now  abreast  the  clift'.  Erlin  was  not  pre- 
pared for  this,  and  as  he  saw  the  missile  fly,  roaring 
through  the  air,  he  uttered  a  cry  of  agony.     The  next 


74  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

moment,  ere  it  had  flown  one-half  the  distance  be- 
tween the  cliff  and  vessel,  he  lighted  upon  it.  Instant- 
ly it  was  arrested  in  its  onward  course,  and  with  the 
swiftness  of  a  lightning-bolt  it  descended  to  the  earth, 
and  buried  itself  deep  in  the  sand,  just  on  the  water's 
edge. 

"  Loud  bellowings  and  wailings  filled  the  air. 
Hurled  back  into  their  cave  by  some  power  invisible, 
the  hideous  monsters  who  had  met  in  council,  were 
bound  down  in  chains  of  adamant  and  shut  up  for 
ever  in  the  cliff's  dark  womb.  Their  bowlings  are 
distinctly  heard  when  the  storm  against  their  prison 
loudly  beats.  The  thunder  never  fails  to  stir  their 
fierce  wrath  up,  and  long  and  direful  are  their  yells 
and  groans  when  thus  disturbed  in  the  eternal  dun- 
geons to  which  the  victiories  of  the  fay  have  doomed 
their  monstrous  race.'' 

Having  finished  this  wild  legend  of  diablerie,  the 
narrator  rose  to  his  feet,  placed  his  spy-glass  beneath 
his  arm,  refilled  his  waning  pipe,  from  an  antiquated 
silver  tobacco-box,  which  he  drew  from  a  deep  pouch 
by  his  left  hip,  and  seemed  about  to  go  from  whence 
he  came.  I  thanked  him  for  his  narrative,  warmly 
expressing  my  gratification,  and  then  courteously  ask- 
ed him  to  whom  I  was  so  greatly  indebted.  He  took 
his  pipe,  which  he  had  resumed,  from  his  mouth,  and 
thus  answered  me: 

"  Mortals,  after  death,  do  hover  over  these  terrestrial 
scenes,  pursue  those  pleasures  or  those  labors,  and 
mingle  in  with  all  those  affairs  which  occupied  them 
while  alive.  Departed  poets  have  a  region  of  their 
own,  inhabiting  romantic  solitudes,  wandering  by  the 
banks  of  rivulets,  and  roaming  amid  sublime  scenery, 
dehghting  their  souls  with  the  essence  of  that  beauty, 
the  grosser  parts  of  which  were  only  enjoyed  by  them 
as  mortals.  Philosophers,  statesmen,  authors,  and  all 
others  have  each  his  own  spiritual  region,  which  is,  in 
a  manner,  the  soul  of  the  sublunary,  for  it  is  to  the 


THE  KELPIE  ROCK.  75 

globe  what  the  soul  of  man  is  to  his  body.  It  is  in 
this  vast  soul,  which  envelopes  the  earth,  that  they  pass 
their  spiritual  existence.  Nothing  is  now  dark  or  ob- 
scure to  their  intellects,  nothing  beyond  the  grasp  of 
their  comprehension.  All  things  before  hid  in  myste- 
ry are  now  clear  as  the  sun,  to  their  spiritual  vision. 
Navigators,  who  discover  continents,  islands,  lakes, 
and  rivers,  do,  in  an  especial  manner,  haunt  the  scenes 
of  their  earthly  fame,  and  are  more  immediately  their 
presiding  and  protecting  genii.  All  these  essences  or 
spirits,  whatever  the  variety  of  their  several  pursuits, 
however  elevated  their  rank,  are  bound  to  obey  the 
call  of  mortals,  appear  before  them  in  their  earthly 
form,  and  answer  to  all  questions  when  rightly  and 
sincerely  applied  to.  I  am  the  presiding  spirit  of  this 
vast  river.     You  \vished  for  me,  and  I  am  here." 

<-'  You  are  then " 

"  Hendrick  Hudson." 

A  loud  clap  of  thunder  at  this  instant  broke  above 
our  heads,  while  the  liglitning,  which  .-iccompanied 
rather  than  preceded  h,  blinded  me  tor  several  seconds. 
^Vhen  I  recovered  the  use  of  my  eyes,  I  looked  around 
and  found  myself  alone. 

Twilight  was  rapidly  breaking  into  night,  the  clouds 
be^an  to  hang  down  the  sides  of  the  mountain  as  if 
heavy  with  water.  Embracing  the  little  of  dayhght 
that  yet  remained,  I  succeeded  in  regaining  the  villa 
of  Underchff,  amid  tempest  of  wind  and  rahi,  ac- 
companied by  wild  flashes  of  lightning,  and  appalling 
thunder,  which  rattled  among  the  hills,  awakening,  as 
I  now  understood  the  apparent  echoes,  the  howhngs 
of  the  troubled  spirits  confined  in  their  cavernous 
bowels. 

The  next  morning  the  sky  being  without  a  cloud, 
the  atmosphere  sot\  and  transparent,  the  sun  bright 
and  cheerful,  and  all  nature  smiling  and  gay,  I  sought 
the  Kelpie  Rock.  On  the  south  side  I  discovered  to 
my  entire  satisfaction,  the  deep  points  of  a  gigantic 


76  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

hoof  six  times  the  size  of  a  horse's  and  as  plainly  to 
be  seen  as  the  nose  on  a  man's  face,  which  at  once 
testified  to  the  veracity  of  the  ancient  Schipper,  and 
the  genuineness  of  his  wonderful  legend.* 

*  For  the  trial  of  Fay  Erlin  for  loving  a  mortal — the  catastrophe 
of  the  council  of  monsters  having  led  to  the  detection — the  curious 
dipper  and  believer  in  legendary  lore,  and  lover  of  fairy  tal-s  is  refer- 
red  to  Drake's  ininsitablc  poem,  entitled  "  The  Culprit  Fay,"  to 
which,  as  well  as  to  the  history  from  the  pen  of  that  enligiitened  his. 
torian  and  profound  scholar,  ?»tr.  Knickerbocker,  the  writer  acknow- 
edges  his  indebtedness. 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  LEAPER; 


OR,  THE 


COURTSHIP  OF  MINE   HOST^S   DAUGHTER. 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  LEAPER, 


In  one  of  llie  loveliest  villages  in  old  Virginia,  there 
lived  in  the  year  175-  and  odd,  an  old  man,  whose 
daughter  was  declared  by  universal  consent,  to  be  the 
loveliest  maiden  in  all  the  country  round.  The  vete- 
ran, in  his  youth,  had  been  athletic  and  muscular 
above  all  his  fellows;  and  his  breast,  where  he  always 
wore  them,  could  show  the  ornament  of  three  medaJifi^' 
received  for  his  victory  in  gymnastic  feats,  when  a 
young  man.  His  daughter  was  now  eighteen,  and  had 
been  sought  in  marriage  by  many  suitors.  One  brought 
wealth — another  a  fine  person — another  industry — an- 
other military  talents— another  this,  and  another  that. 
But  they  were  all  refused  by  the  old  man,  who  became 
at  last  a  by-word  for  his  obstinacy  among  the  young 
men  of  the  village  and  neighborhood.  At  length,  the 
nineteenth  birthday  of  Annette,  his  charming  daughter, 
who  was  as  amiable  and  modest  as  she  was  beautiful 
arrived.  The  morning  of  that  day  her  father  invited 
all  the  youth  of  the  country  to  a  hay-making  frolic. 
Seventeen  handsome  and  industrious  young  men  as- 
sembled. They  came  not  only  to  make  hay,  but  also 
to  make  love  to  the  fair  Annette.  In  three  hours  they 
had   filled  the  father's  barns  with  the  newly  dried 


80  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

grass,  and  their  own  hearts  with  love.  Aniiette,  by 
her  father's  command,  had  brought  them  malt  hquor 
of  her  own  brewing,  which  she  presented  to  each  ena- 
mored swain  with  her  own  fair  hands. 

"  Now  my  boys,"  said  the  old  keeper  of  the  jewel 
they  all  coveted,  as  leaning  on  their  pitchforks  they 
assembled  round  his  door  in  the  cool  of  the  evening 
— "  Now  my  lads,  you  have  nearly  all  of  you  made 
proposals  for  my  Annette.  Now,  you  see,  I  don't  care 
anything  about  money  nor  talents,  book  larning  nor 
soldier  larning — I  can  do  as  well  by  my  gal  as  any 
man  in  the  county,  But  I  want  her  to  marry  a  man 
of  my  own  grit.  Now,  you  know,  or  ought  to  know, 
when  I  was  a  youngster,  I  could  beat  any  thing  in  all 
Virginny  in  the  way  o'leaping.  I  got  my  old  woman 
by  beating  the  smartest  man  on  the  Eastern  shore, 
and  I  have  took  the  oath  and  sworn  it,  that  no  man 
shall  marry  my  daughter  without  jumping  for  it.  You 
understand  me,  my  boys.  There's  the  green,  and  here's 
Annette,"  he  added,  taking  his  daughter,  who  stood 
timidly  by  him,  by  the  hand.  "  Now  the  one  that 
jumps  the<furthest  on  a'  dead-level'  shall  marry  An- 
nette this  very  night. 

This  unique  address  was  received  by  the  young  men 
with  applause.  And  many  a  youth  as  he  bounded 
gaily  forward  to  the  arena  of  trial,  cast  a  glance  of 
anticipated  victory  upon  the  lovely  object  of  village 
chivalry.  The  maidens  left  their  looms  and  quilting 
frames,  the  children  their  noisy  sports,  the  slaves  their 
labors,  and  the  old  men  their  arm-chairs  and  long 
pipes,  to  witness  and  triumph  in  the  success  of  the 
victor.  All  prophesied  and  many  wished  that  it 
would  be  37-oung  Carroll.  He  was  the  handsomest 
and  best  humored  youth  in  the  county,  and  all  knew 
that  a  strong  and  mutual  attachment  existed  between 
him  and  the  fair  Annette.  Carroll  had  won  the  repu- 
tation of  being  the  ^'  best  leaper,"  and  in  a  country 
where  such  atretic  achievements  were  the  sine  qua 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  LEAPER.  81 

non  of  a  man's  cleverness,  this  was  no  ordinary  ho- 
nor. In  a  contest  like  the  present  he  had  therefore 
every  advantage  over  his  fellow  uthletx. 

The  arena  allotted  for  this  hymeneal  contest,  was  a 
level  space  in  front  of  the  village-inn,  and  near  the 
centre  of  a  grass-plat,  reserved  in  the  midst  of  the  vil- 
lage denominated  '-the  green."  The  verdnre  was 
quite  worn  off  at  this  place  hy  previous  exercises  of  a 
similar  kind,  and  a  hard  surface  of  sand  more  hefit- 
ting  for  the  purpose  to  which  it  was  to  be  used,  sup- 
plied its  place. 

The  father  of  the  lovely,  blushing,  and  wiih^i  happy 
prize,  (for  she  well  knew  who  would  win,)  with  three 
other  patriarchal  villagers  were  the  judges  appointed 
to  decide  upon  the  claims  of  the  several -competitors. 
The  last  time  Carroll  tried  his  skill  in  this  exercise,  he 
"cleared" — to  use  the  leaper's  phraseology — twenty- 
one  feet  and  one  inch. 

The  signal  was  given,  and  by  lot  the  young  men 
stepped  into  the  arena. 

"Edward  Grayson,  seventeen  feet,"  cried  one  of 
the  judges.  The  youth  had  done  his  utmost.  He 
was  a  pale  intellectual  student.  Bnt  what  had  intel- 
lect to  do  in  such  an  arena?  Without  looking  at  the 
maiden  he  slowly  left  the  ground. 

"Dick  Boulden,  nineteen  feet."  Dick  with  a  laugh, 
turned  away,  and  replaced  his  coat. 

"  Harrv  Preston,  nineteen  feet  and  three  inches." 
"  Well  done,  Harry  Preston,"  shouted  the  spectators, 
"  you  have  tried  hard  for  the  acres  and  homestead." 

Harry  also  laughed  and  swore  he  only  "jumped  for 
the  fun'of  the  thing."  Harry  was  a  rattle-brained  fel- 
low, but  never  thought  of  matrimony.  He  loved  to 
walk  and  talk,  and  laugh  and  romp  with  Annette,  but 
sober  marriage  never  came  into  his  head.  He  only 
jumped  for  "  the  fun  of  the  thing."  He  would  not 
have  said  so,  if  sure  of  winning. 


82  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

"  Charley  Simms,  fifteen  feet  and  a  half."  "  Hur- 
rah for  Charley!  Charley'll  win!''  cried  the  crowd 
good-hnmoredly.  Charley  Simms  was  the  cleverest 
fellow  in  the  world.  His  mother  had  advised  him  to 
stay  at  home,  and  told  him  if  he  ever  won  a  wife,  she 
would  fall  in  love  with  his  good  temper,  rather  than 
his  legs.  Charley,  however,  made  the  trial  of  the  lat- 
ter's  capabilities  and  lost.  JNIany  refused  to  enter  the 
lists  altogether.  Others  made  the  trial,  and  only  one 
of  the  leapers  had  yet  cleared  twenty  feet. 

"  Now,"  cried  the  villagers,  "  let's  see  Henry  Car- 
roll. He  ought  to  beat  this,"  and  every  one  appeared, 
as  they  called  to  mind  the  mutual  love  of  the  last  com- 
petitor and  the  sweet  Annette,  as  if  they  heartily 
wished  his  success. 

Henry  stepped  to  his  post  with  a  firm  tread.  His 
eye  glanced  with  confidence  around  upon  the  villagers 
and  rested,  before  he  bounded  forward,  upon  the  face 
of  Annette,  as  if  to  catch  therefrom  that  spirit  and  as- 
surance which  the  occassion  called  for.  Returning 
the  encouraging  glance  with  which  she  met  his  own, 
with  a  proud  smile  upon  his  lips,  he  bounded  forward. 

"Twenty-one  feet  and  a  half!"  shouted  the  multi- 
'tude,  repeating  the  announcement  of  one  of  the 
judges,  "twenty-one  feet  and  a  half.  Harry  Carroll 
forever.  Annette  and  Harry."  Hands,  caps,  and 
kerchiefs  waved  over  the  heads  of  the  spectators,  and 
the  eyes  of  the  delighted  Annette  sparkled  with  joy. 

When  Henry  Carroll  moved  to  his  station  to  strive 
for  the  prize,  a  tall  gentlemanly  young  man  in  a  mili- 
tary undress  frock-coat,  who  had  rode  up  to  the  inn, 
dismounted  and  joined  the  spectators,  unperceived, 
while  the  contest  was  going  on,  stepped  suddenly  for- 
ward, and  with  a  "  knowing  eye,"  measured  delibe- 
rately the  space  accomplished  by  the  last  leaper.  He 
was  a  stranger  in  the  village.  His  handsome  face  and 
easy  address  attracted  the  eyes  of  the  village  maidens, 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  LEAPEIl.  83 

and  his  maiily'ancl  sinewy  frame,  in  which  symmetry 
and  strength  were  happily  united,  called  forth  the  ad- 
miration of  the  young  men. 

"  Mayhap,  sir  stranger,  you  think  you  can  beat 
that,"  said  one  of  the  by-standers,  remarking  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  eye  of  the  stranger  scanned  the  area. 
*^  If  yon  can  leap  beyond  Harry  Carroll,  you'll  beat 
the  best  man  in  the  colonies.'^  The  truth  of  this  ob- 
servation was  assented  to  by  a  general  murmur. 

"  Is  it  for  mere  amusement  you  are  pursuing  this 
pastime?''  inquired  the  youthful  stranger,  "  oris  there 
a  prize  for  the  winner?" 

"  Annette,  the  loveliest  and  wealthiest  of  our  vil- 
lage maidens,  is  to  be  the  reward  of  the  victor,"  cried 
one  of  the  judges. 

'^  Are  the  lists  open  to-all?" 

"  All,  young  sir!"  replied  the  father  of  Annette  with 
interest— his  youthful  ardor  rising  as  he  surveyed  the 
proportions  of  the  straight-limbed  young  stranger. 
"  She  is  the  bride  of  him  whooutleaps  Henry  Carroll. 
If  you  will  try  you  are  free  to  do  so.  But  let  me  tell 
you,  Harrv  Carroll  has  no  rival  in  Virginny.  Here 
is  my  daughter,  sir,  look  at  her  and  make  your  trial." 

The  young  officer  glanced  upon  the  trembling 
maiden  about  to  be  offered  on  the  altar  of  her  father's 
unconquerable  monomania,  with  an  admiring  eye. 
The  poor  girl  looked  at  Harry,  who  stood  near  with  a 
troubled  brow  and  angry  eye,  and  then  cast  upon 
ti  e  new  competitor  an  imploring  glance. 

Placing  his  coat  in  the  hands  of  one  of  the  judges^ 
he  drew  a  sash  he  wore  beneath  it  tighter  around  his 
waist,  and  taking  the  appointed  stand,  made,  appa- 
rently without  effort,  the  bound  that  was  to  decide  the 
happiness  or  misery  of  Henry  and  Annette. 

"Twenty-two  feet  one  inch!"  shouted  the  judge! 
The  announcement  was  repeated  with  surprise  by  the 
spectators,  who  crowded  around  the  victor,  filling  the 
air  with  congratulations,  not  unmingled,  however,  with 


84  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

loud  murmurs  from  those  who  were  more  nearly  inte- 
rested m  the  happiness  of  the  lovers. 

The  old  man  approached,  and  grasping  his  hand 
exultingly,  called  him  his  son,  and  said  he  felt  prouder 
of  him  than  if  he  were  a  prince.  Physical  activity 
and  strength  were  the  old  leaper's  true  patents  of  no- 
bility. 

Resuming  his  coat,  the  victor  sought  with  his  eye 
the  fair  prize  he  had,  although  nameless  and  unknown, 
so  fairly  won.  She  leaned  upon  her  father's  arm, 
pale  and  distressed. 

Her  lover  stood  aloof,  gloomy  and  mortified,  ad- 
miring the  superiority  of  the  stranger  in  an  exercise 
in  which  he  prided  himself  as  unrivalled,  while  he 
hated  him  for  his  success. 

"Annette,  my  pretty  prize,"  said  the  victor,  taking 
her  passive  hand — "  I  have  won  you  fairly."  An- 
nette's cheek  became  paler  than  marble;  she  trembled 
Uke  an  aspen-leaf,  and  clung  closer  to  her  father,  while 
her  drooping  eye  sought  the  form  of  her  lover. — His 
brow  grew  dark  at  the  stranger's  language. 

"  I  have  won  you,  my  pretty  flower,  to  make  you 
a  bride! — tremble  not  so  violently — I  mean  not  for 
myself,  however  proud  I  might  be,"  he  added  with 
gallantry,  "to  wear  so  fair  a  gem  next  my  heart.  Per- 
haps," and  he  cast  his  eyes  around  inquiringly,  while 
the  current  of  life  leaped  joyfully  to  her  brow,  and  a 
murmur  of  surprise  run  through  the  crowd:  "  perhaps 
there  is  some  favored  youth  among  the  competitors 
who  has  a  higher  claim  to  this  jewel.  Young  Sir," 
he  continued,  turning  to  the  surprised  Henry,  "me- 
thinks  you  were  victor  in  the  lists  before  me — I  strove 
not  for  the  maiden,  though  one  could  not  well  strive 
for  a  fairer,  but  from  love  for  the  manly  sport  in  which 
I  saw  you  engaged.  You  are  the  victor,  and  as  such, 
with  the  permission  of  this  worthy  assembly,  receive 
from  my  hands  the  prize  you  have  so  well  and  honor- 
ablv  won." 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  LEAPER.  85 

The  youth  sprung  forward,  and  grasped  his  hand 
with  gratitude:  and"  tlie  next  moment  Amiette  was 
weeping  from  pure  joy  upon  his  shoulders.  The  wel- 
kin rung  with  the  acclamations  of  the  delighted  vil- 
lagers; and,  amid  the  temporary  excitement  produced 
by  this  act,  the  stranger  withdrew  from  the  crowd, 
mounted  his  horse,  and  spurred  at  a  brisk  trot  through 
the  village. 

That  night  Henry  and  Annette  were  married,  and 
the  health  of  the  mysterious  and  noble-hearted  stranger 
was  drunk  in  over-flowing  bumpers  of  rustic  beverage. 

In  process  of  time,  there  were  born  unto  the  mar- 
ried pair  sons  and  daughters,  and  Henry  Carroll  had 
become  Colonel  Henry  Carroll,  of  the  Revolutionary 
army. 

One  evening,  having  just  returned  home  after  a 
hard  campaign",  he  was  sitting  with  his  family  on  the 
gallery  of  his  handsome  country-house,  when  an  ad- 
vance courier  rode  up,  and  announced  the  approach 
of  General  Washington  and  suite,  intorming  him  that 
he  should  crave  his  hospitality  for  the  night.  The  ne- 
cessar^'  directions  w^ere  given  in  reference  to  the  house- 
hold preparations,  and  Colonel  Carroll,  ordering  his 
horse,  rode  forward  to  meet  and  escort  to  his  house 
the  distinguished  guest,  whom  he  had  never  yet  seen, 
although  serving  in  the  same  widely-extended  army. 

That  evening  at  the  table,  Annette,  now  become 
the  dignified,  matronly  and  still  handsome  Mrs.  Car- 
roll, could  not  keep  her  eyes  from  the  face  of  their 
illustrious  visitor.  Every  moment  or  two  she  would 
steal  a  glance  at  his  commanding  features,  and  half- 
doubtingly,  half-assuredly,  shake  her  head,  and  look 
again  and  again,  to  be  still  more  puzzled.  Her  ab- 
sence of  mind  and  embarrassment  at  length  became 
evident  to  her  husband,  who  inquired,  affectionately, 
if  she  were  ill. 

'•  I  suspect,  Colonel,''  said  the  General,  who  had 
been  for  some  time,  with  a  quiet,  meaning,  smile,  ob- 
S 


S6  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

serving  the  lady's  curious  and  puzzled  survey  of  his 
features,  "  that  Mrs.  Carroll  thinks  she  recognises  in 
me  an  old  acquaintance.''  And  he  smiled  with  a 
mysterious  air,  as  he  gazed  on  both  alternately. 

The  Colonel  stared,  and  a  faint  memory  of  the  past 
seemed  to  be  revived,  as  he  gazed,  while  the  lady  rose 
impulsively  from  her  chair,  and  bending  eagerly  for- 
ward over  the  tea-urn,  with  elapsed  hands  and  an  eye 
of  intense,  eager  inquiry,  fixed  full  upon  him,  stood 
for  a  moment  with  her  lips  parted  as  if  she  would 
speak. 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dear  madam — pardon  me.  Colo- 
nel— I  must  put  an  end  to  this  scene.  I  have  become, 
by  dint  of  camp-fare  and  hard  usage,  too  unwieldy 
to  leap  again  twenty-two  feet  one  inch,  even  for  so 
fair  a  bride  as  one  I  wot  of." 

The  recognition,  with  the  delight,  surprise  and  hap- 
piness that  followed,  are  left  to  the  imagination  of  the 
reader. 

General  Washington  was,  indeed,  the  handsome 
young  "leaper,"  whose  mysterious  appearance  and 
disappearance  in  the  native  village  of  the  lovers  is 
still  so  traditionary,  and  whose  claim  to  a  substantial 
body  of  bond  Jide  flesh  and  blood,  was  stoutly  con- 
tested by  the  village  story-tellers,  until  the  happy  de- 
nouement which  took  place  at  the  hospitable  mansion 
of  Colonel  Carroll. 


THE  LAST   OF  THE  WHIPS; 


OR, 


FOUR-IN-HAND  versus  LOCOMOTIVE. 


IN  TWO  PARTS. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  WHIPS. 


PART  I. 


*^ALLin!"  cried  the  stage  agent,  as  he  turned  the  han- 
dle of  the  door.  The  coachman  or  "driver,"  as  he 
is  denominated  in  the  parlance  of  New-England,  till 
this  announcement  had  been  listlessly  seated  upon  his 
box,  with  a  half-smoked  long-nine  projecting  from  his 
lips.  He  now  gathered  up  the  ribands  in  the  palm  of 
his  left  hand,  shook  them  slightly,  and  with  an  air  pro- 
fessional, settling  himself  the  while  with  a  forward  in- 
clination of  his  body  more  firmly  upon  his  seat.  Draw- 
ing them  through  his  fingers,  till  he  ascertained  to  his 
satisfaction  that  they  "  pulled"  upon  the  bits  of  his 
four-in-hand  equally  and  uniformly,  he  took  his  long 
■whip,  constructed  of  an  oaken  staff,  some  five  feet  in 
length,  to  which  appertained  a  lash  nearly  twice  as 
long,  flourished  this  "baton,"  of  his  station  scienti- 
fically, and  with  the  grace  of  a  professeur  three  or 
four  times  around  his  head,  winding  up  with  a  loud 
report  of  the  snapper  close  to  the  ears  of  the  leaders. 

"T — t — t!  cam!  accompanied  this  startling  saluta- 
tion to  his  favorite  barbs,  and  away  they  sprung,  toss- 
ing their  slender  heads  into  the  air,  and  flinging  out 
their  fore  legs  wide,  their  fioofs  clattering  upon  the 


90  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

round  pavements  of  the  streets  of  Providence.  The 
rattling  of  the  wheels,  the  loud  crack  of  the  lash, 
which,  with  reiterated  reports,  still  played  skilfully 
about  their  heads  and  flanks,  and  the  encouraging  in- 
terjections of  the  coachman,  momently  infusing  ad- 
ditional fire  into  the  spirited  animals.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments we  had  left  the  town,  (for  Providence,  in  1S32, 
dear  reader,  was  under  the  good  old-fashioned  patri- 
archal government  of  select  men,  modest  and  unas- 
suming the  honors  of  mayor  and  corporation,)  and 
were  flying  over  the  smooth  turnpike,  which  was  the 
only  line  of  communication  either  for  the  mail  or  tra- 
vellers between  that  place  and  Boston.  This  route  in 
the  day  of  improvement  is  superseded  by  the  railroad, 
on  which  travellers  are  transported  in  two  hours  over 
a  section  of  country,  which,  three  years  ago,  consumed 
from  six  to  seven.  The  day  was  delightful.  The  sun 
was  warm,  but  not  oppressive.  It  was  late  in  the 
month  of  July,  and  nature  was  arrayed  in  her  love- 
liest apparel.  I  had  taken  my  seat  by  the  side  of  the 
*'  driver,"  to  obtain  a  prospect  of  the  finely  cultivated 
country  through  which  our  route  lay,  and  draw  upon 
him  for  information  respecting  objects  we  passed.  No 
man  should  ever  ride  inside  when  he  can  ride  outside! 
This  should  be  an  axiom  for  all  travellers.  Preserve 
me  from  immolation  in  a  stage-coach  on  a  dusty  road 
of  a  summer's  day,  nine  passengers  inside,  with  chil- 
dren and  bandboxes  to  fill  up  the  interstices.  If  sins 
are  ever  expiated  in  this  life,  such  a  mode  of  travel- 
ling must  speedily  produce  the  complete  absolution  of 
the  most  hardened  transgressors. 

My  companion,  the  coachman,  was  a  finely-form- 
ed, athletic  man,  about  five-and-twenty,  with  a  hand- 
some, good-humored  and  benevolent  countenance,  a 
merry  twinkle  in  his  clear  blue  eye  and  florid  com- 
plexion, with  hght-brown  hair,  curling  about  his  fore- 
iiead  and  neck.  He  was  dressed  in  light-green  panta- 
loons of  corduroy  velvet,  and  a  short  drab  coat,  adorn- 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  WHIPS.  91 

ed  with  pearl  buttons,  the  size  of  a  Spanish  dollar; 
and  wore,  a  little  depressed  over  his  eyes,  a  white  hat, 
with  a  broad  brim,  encircled  by  a  straw-colored  ri- 
band. On  the  seat  lay  his  blue  dreadnanght,  or  box- 
coat,  which  served  him  as  a  cushion  when  fair,  but  in 
which  in  cold  or  Avet  weather  he  comfortably  envelop- 
ed himself  We  were  rolling  along  through  a  finely- 
tilled  country,  with  farm-houses,  black  and  moss-co- 
vered with  age,  lining  the  road,  the  rich  farms  apper- 
taining to  them  spreading  around  in  all  the  opulence 
of  waving  grain,  green  pastures,  witk  flocks  and  herds 
— complete  pictures  of  comfort  and  independence. 
Rural  happiness  seemed  to  have  made  this  her  abid- 
ing-place, with  peace,  plenty  and  repose  dwelling 
around  her. 

Invited  by  the  good-natured  physiognomy  of  the 
coachman,  I  entered  into  conversation  with  him.  He 
was  intelligent  and  communicative,  and,  like  all  New- 
Englanders,  in  his  station  in  society,  with  a  good  com- 
mon education.  His  information  relating  to  the  ob- 
jects on  the  way,  was  valuable.  He  was  an  fait  re- 
specting any  historical,  or  otherwise  interesting  event 
associated  with  the  surrounding  scenery,  through 
which  we  were  passing.  In  alluding  to  the  subject 
of  the  projected  railroad,  then  in  agitation,  between 
Boston  and  Providence,  he  remarked  that  it  might  be 
beneficial  to  many,  but  it  would  inevitably  ruin  all 
engaged  in  "staging." 

'•  For  my  part,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  know  what  I 
should  do  if  this  line  should  be  broken  up.  I  have 
been,  some  eight  years  next  September,  driving  on  this 
route,  and  this  is  my  only  means  of  supporting  mv 
family." 

"You  are  tlien  married!" 

"  Yes,  sir;  I  have  been  married  five  years  and  little 
better,  and  have  a  httle  curly-headed  rogue  that  knows 
now  almost  as  much  as  his  father;  and  one  of  the  pret- 


92  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

tiest  little  babies  perhaps  you  ever  laid  your  eyes  on, 
sir." 

I  smiled  at  the  naivete  with  which  he  said  this.  He 
detected  the  expression  of  my  eye;  and,  coloring,  he 
shook  the  lines  and  cracked  his  whip — although  his 
team  were  doing  their  best  over  a  level  road — with  a 
report  like  a  pistol  in  the  ears  of  his  bay  leaders,  and, 
after  a  momentary  pause,  continued  apologetically— 

'^  Why,  I  didn't  mean  to  flatter  myself  when  I  said 
it  was  pretty,  sir;  although  the  neighbors  do  say  it  fa- 
vors its  father." 

'•  I  have  no  doubt  that  it  is  as  lovely  as  you  repre- 
sent," I  replied,  *'  and  that,  nevertheless,  it  resembles 
yourself."  I  said  this  sincerely  as  1  watched  the 
changes  of  his  handsome,  but  sun-browned  face,  as 
the  pride  of  the  father  and  husband,  called  up  there- 
upon, the  finest  expression  of  which  the  human  face 
divine  is  susceptible. 

The  shades  of  evening  were  falling  around  us,  and 
we  had  just  commenced  the  ascent  of  a  long  hill 
clothed  with  forest  trees,  which  often  overhung  the 
road,  enveloping  it  in  gloom. 

The  "driver"  dropped  his  reins  upon  the  back  of 
his  team,  permuting  it  to  toil  slowly  and  laboriously 
to  the  summit.  He  was  silent  and  musing,  and  his 
thoughts  were  evidently  with  his  wife  and  little  ones; 
for  his  features  wore  that  mingled  expression  of  sad- 
ness and  joy,  which  at  twilight,  will  steal  over  the 
face  of  the  absent  Avanderer  when  the  heart  is  present 
with  loved  ones.  The  spell  of  twilight  had  fallen  upon 
my  companion,  and,  in  imagination,  he  was  beside 
his  young  wife,  with  his  "  little  rogue"  and  lovely 
babe  upon  his  knee !  Suddenly  he  turned,  and  look- 
ing me  full  in  the  face,  said  respectfully  and  with  in- 
terest— 

"  Are  you  married,  sir,  if  I  may  be  so  bold?" 

Poor  fellow!  he  sought  for  sympathy!  Alas,  forlorn 
biped  that  I  was  then,  I  had  none  to  bestow ! 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  WHIPS.  93 

»*  I  am  not/' I  answered;  "but  I  can  picture  the 
bliss  of  nuptial  life.'' 

"Allow  me  to  say,  sir,  that  you  can  never  judge 
rightly  unless  you  do  so  from  experience,"  he  inter- 
rupted with  some  energy.  "  I  have  been  married 
about  five  years.  I  never  knew  Avhat  it  was  to  be 
happy  and  enjoy  Ufe  till  then.  I  have  had  more  real 
comfort  in  these  five  years,  than  in  all  my  life  before. 
Oh,  sir,  if  you  could  see  how  nicely  I  live;  there's  my 
little  cottage,  just  back  from  the  road,  almost  hid  in 
the  trees,  its  httle  flower-yard  in  front,  which  ^Mary — 
that's  my  wife's  name,  sir — tends  herself:  and  the  gar- 
den behind,  which  I  cultivate  myself  when  I  am  not 
on  the  road.  Oh,  sir,  if  you  could  but  see  the  sweet 
smile  with  which  Mary  meets  me  when  I  get  to  the 
house,  the  nice  supper  she  sets  for  me,  and  hear  her 
tell  how  much  she  has  missed  me,  and  how  often  the 
little  prattlers  have  talked  about  ^  Pa.'  " 

The  coachman  became  eloquent  as  he  proceeded  to 
detail  the  individual  features  which  conduced  to  the 
perfection  of  his  matrimonial  felicity.  The  picture  he 
presented  to  my  imagination,  was  glowing.  The 
goodness  of  heart  and  native  nobility  of  character  he 
displayed  in  the  recital,  filled  me 'with  admiration, 
while  my  heart  warmed  toward  him.  He  spoke  of 
his  early  courtship — how  Mary  had  refused  wealthier 
suitors  for  him,  lier  "  dear  Henry."  He  discoursed  of 
her  maternal  and  conjugal  love:  how  she  would  weep 
at  a  tale  of  sadness:  mourn  with  the  sorrowful  and 
rejoice  with  the  mirthful.  How  she  loved  her  chil- 
dren—nightly kneeled  by  their  bedside,  and  com- 
mended them  to  the  protection  of  her  Heavenly  Parent. 
Of  her  piety  he  spoke  long  and  ardently. 

"Mary!"  I  mentally  exclaimed,  "thou  art  well 
called  MARY!" 

The  night  had  set  in  dark,  and  we  were  near  the 
end  of  the  stage  or  route  where  we  were  to  change 
horses  and  driver.     A  little  village  was  before  us. 


94  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

with  a  light  twinkling  here  and  there  from  a  dwelling 
on  the  roadside.  The  horses  flew  forward  with  in- 
creased speed:  the  wheels  whirled  rapidly  along  the 
smooth  pike,  and  loud  and  frequent  were  the  reports 
of  the  long  lash  in  the  air  over  the  heads  of  the  lead- 
ers. We  were  entering  the  native  village  of  my  senti- 
mental and  happy  companion  upon  the  coach  box! 

"  Do  you  see  that  light,  sir?"  he  inquired,  with  a 
tone  of  pleasure.  I  looked  in  the  direction  indicated 
with  his  whip.  One  light  burned  higher,  brighter,  and 
more  cheerfully  than  all  the  rest. 

*'  That  bright  light  is  in  Mary's  window,"  he  said; 
"she  always  sits  there  waiting  for  my  return.  Now, 
sir,  I  will  gladden  her  heart." 

As  he  spoke  he  drew  his  stage-horn  from  a  "  beck- 
et"  in  which  it  hung,  and  placing  it  to  his  hps,  blew 
a  long  and  cheerful  blast.  The  horses,  as  if  catching 
inspiration  from  the  sound,  darted  ahead  with  re- 
newed swifrness,  and  the  next  moment  the  coach 
wheels  were  rattling  merrily  over  the  paved  street  of 
the  quiet  village. 

The  stage  rolled  along  through  the  avenue-like 
street,  and  stopped  before  the  principal  hotel.  The 
driver  dismounted,  and  surrendered  his  box  to  anoth- 
er, a  hard-featured  stranger,  with  a  harsh  voice  and 
vulgar  manners.  I  disliked  him  at  once,  and  deter- 
mined to  go  no  farther  that  night,  for  my  curiosity  was 
roused  to  see  more  of  my  new  friend. 

"  Coachman,"  I  said  to  him,  "  you  have  created  an 
interest  in  me;  I  wish  to  go  with  you  to  your  house; 
I  should  be  gratified  in  witnessing  vour  domestic 
bliss." 

"  Nothing  would  make  me  happier,"  he  replied;  "  I 
was  wishing  to  ask  the  honor  of  you,  but  was  afraid 
it  would  be  too  bold  in  me." 

"x\ll  ready, gentlemen!"  cried  the  new  coachman, 
ascending  to  his  box.     "  We  are  waiting  for  you,  sir." 


THE  LAST  OF  THE   WHIPS.  95 

"  Pitch  me  my  valise,  driver;  I  shall  go  no  farther 
to-night!" 

The  valise,  with  a  heavy  sound,  accompanied  by 
an  oath  from  the  driver,  struck  the  gallery,  and  with  a 
flourish  and  crack  of  the  whip,  the  stage  rolled  away 
from  the  inn,  leaving  me  standing  beside  my  Bene- 
dict. 

After  having  engaged  a  room  for  the  night  at  the 
inn,  I  was,  in  a  few  minutes,  on  my  way  to  the  cot- 
tage of  the  happy  husband;  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from 
the  inn  we  turned  into  a  narrow  and  crooked  lane,  at  the 
termination  of  which  a  light  gleamed  steadily;  a  bea- 
con of  love,  guiding  the  married  lover  to  his  young 
bride ! 

We  had  walked  half  way  to  the  house  when  the 
gate  of  the  flower-garden  was  thrown  open,  and  a 
graceful  female  figure  hastily  advanced  towards  us. 
Her  white  dress  glanced  in  the  moon,  which  was  just 
rising  above  the  trees;  our  figures,  at  that  moment, 
were  partly  concealed,  mine  wholly  so,  in  the  shadow 
of  a  venerable  tree  which  overspread  the  path. 

"Henry,  is  it  you?  Oh,  I  have  been  waiting  for 
you  so  long,"  and  she  darted  forward  and  threw  her- 
self into  his  arms.  "  Two  long  days  you  have  been 
away,  and  I  have  been  so  lonely!"  As  she  spoke  she 
drew  back  from  his  arms,  which  had  encircled  her;  to 
gaze  into  his  face,  her  eyes  full  of  love,  when  the  form 
of  a  stranger  caught  her  eye.  I  was  gazing  upon  her 
fair  face  in  undisguised  admiration.  Her  beauty,  soft- 
ened by  the  moonlight  seemed  angelic! 

"  Sir,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said,  while  her  blush- 
ing brow  was  visible  even  in  the  moonlight.  "  Henry, 
why  didn't  you  tell  me  some  one  was  with  you?"  she 
added  with  playful  reproof,  half  ashamed  that  a  stran- 
ger's eye  should  mark  the  fervor  of  her  devotion  to  her 
husband  and  lover. 

We  passed  through  the  neat  white  gate  along  a 


96  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

pebbled  walk  bordered  with  flowers,  and  entered  the 
cottage,  a  simple,  snow-white  dwelling,  adorned  with 
a  humble  portico,  half  hidden  in  honey-suckle  and 
woodbine.  With  courtesy,  I  was  ushered  into  their 
happy  abode.  A  room  on  the  right  of  the  little  hall 
served  the  young  and  frugal  housewife  as  sitting-room 
and  kitchen.  The  floors  were  snowy-white,  the  fur- 
niture plain  and  neat.  Simplicity  and  taste  reigned 
over  every  domestic  arrangement.  Under  a  small 
mirror  placed  against  the  wall,  stood  a  side-table  spread 
with  a  white  cloth,  on  which  was  laid  the  evening 
meal.  There  were  two  plates — for  the  wife  had  de- 
layed her  meal.  She  would  not  partake  without  her 
husband!  The  httle  ones  had  long  before  taken  their 
bread  and  milk,  and  were  sweetly  and  soundly  sleep- 
ing— "  the  rogue"  in  a  crib  by  the  side  of  a  bed  visi- 
ble in  an  adjoinmg  room — the  infant  in  a  cradle  by  the 
table, 

I  partook  with  the  happy  pair  of  their  evening 
meal,  which  remained  religiously  untouched,  after  we 
were  seated,  until  the  lovely  wife  sweetly  and  devo- 
tionally  sought  the  divine  blessing  upon  it.  x\fter 
supper  the  sleeping  infant  was  placed  in  my  arms  by 
the  fond  father.  It  was,  indeed,  a  lovely  child — a 
sleeping  cherub!  The  eldest,  a  chubby,  rosy -cheeked 
urchin  of  some  four  years'  growth  in  mischief,  was 
also  taken  from  the  inner  room  and  shown  to  me.  It 
was  a  beautiful  curly-locked  fellow,  the  miniature  of 
its  father.  I  told  him  so,  and  he  smiled  delightedly; 
while  his  charming  wife's  face  beamed  more  happily 
than  if  the  compliment  had  been  paid  to  herself.  That 
night,  after  kneeling  with  them  around  the  family  al- 
tar, and  listening  to  a  petition  from  the  lips  of  the 
young  husband,  which,  for  its  spirit  of  devotion  and 
humble  faith,  I  have  seldom  known  equalled,  I  return- 
ed to  my  hotel,  and  laid  my  head  upon  my  pillow  a 
happier  and  better  man! 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  WHIPS.  97 

Alas!  that  my  story  must  end  as  it  will!  If  the 
reader  will  be  content  with  but  one  side  of  the  shield, 
let  him  glance  only  at  the  first  part  of  this  tale  of  real 
life.  The  second  is  for  him  who  will  weigh  human 
life  in  a  balance — who  seeks  for  the  knowledge  both 
of  good  and  evil. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  WHIPS. 

PART  II. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  WHIPS. 


PART  II. 


Ox  one  of  the  loveliest  afternoons  of  June  last,  I 
stepped  from  the  dusty  pier  upon  the  deck  of  the 
steamer  Benjamin  FrankUn,  bound  for  Providence. 
Of  this  fine  boat  I  need  not  speak.  Every  one  who 
knows  the  patriarch  of  the  "  line''  Captain  Bunker, 
knows  the  Benjamin  FrankUn,  and  all  who  have 
"  travelled"  know  him,  and  how  very  comfortable  he 
makes  his  large  family  of  passengers.  His  kind  con- 
sideration for  their  comfort  is  characterised  by  quite  a 
paternal  sort  of  feeling. 

'•  Go  ahead!"  shouted  the  first  officer,  as  the  clocks 
of  the  city  were  striking  near  and  afar  off,  the  hour  of 
five;  and  amid  the  ringing  of  bells  from  surrounding 
and  rival  steamboats,  the  loud  and  repeated  adieus  in- 
terchanged between  friends  on  deck  and  those  they 
were  leaving  behind  on  the  pier — this  noble  packet, 
shot  swiftly  out  from  the  dock,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
under  the '  highest  pressure  of  her  immense  power, 
was  gliding  past  an  hundred  craft  anchored  and  on 
the  wing,  passing  the  fleetest  among  them  as  if  it 
were  staUonary,  so  imperceptible  was  its  really  swift 
motion  compared  with  the  bird-like  velocity  of  the 

9* 


102  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

Steamer.  A  few  minutes  after  leaving  the  pier,  the ' 
Battery,  with  its  green  carpet,  broad  avenues,  noble 
trees,  and  gay  crowds,  appeared  in  sight;  but  the 
next  moment,  like  a  scene  of  a  brilliant  and  a  fleeting 
panorama,  it  disappeared,  as  making  a  majestic 
sweep  the  boat  doubled  the  Castle  Garden — the  lively 
evening  rendezvous  of  tired  and  cooped-up  cits. 
Rounding  Whitehall,  once  more  we  were  involved  in 
an  anchored  fleet  of  merchantmen,  through  which 
our  boat  skilfully  threaded  its  intricate  way,  passing 
on  one  side  crowded  piers  and  long  lines  of  stores;  on 
the  other  the  bluff's,  trees,  green  slopes,  colonnaded 
mansions,  and  Navy  Yard  of  Brooklyn.  Onward  we 
sped  at  th'^  rate  of  seventeen  miles  to  the  hour,  yet 
the  long  line  of  brick  buildings  seemed  interminable. 
The  city  appeared  to  stretch  away  to  the  north  to  in- 
finity, while  on  the  eastern  side  the  shores  of  Long 
Island,  studded  with  villages  and  dotted  with  villas, 
surrounded  with  highly-cultivated  grounds,  relieved 
the  eye  when  turned  thither,  fatigued  with  surveying 
the  brick  and  mortar  scenery  of  Manhattan. 

Six  miles  from  the  Battery  we  passed  a  charming 
recess  of  the  sound,  or  "  East  River,"  as  it  is  strange- 
ly denominated,  called  "  Hallet's  Cove."  It  is  an  am- 
phitheatre of  country  seats,  embowered  in  the  green- 
est and  densest  foliage.  On  an  elevated  esplanade  or 
bluff",  overhanging  the  water,  the  site  of  a  delightful 
village — that  is  to  be — called  Ravenswood,  was  point- 
ed out  to  me.  It  is  to  be  laid  out  with  the  most  accu- 
rate adherence  to  symmetry  in  the  arrangement  and 
architecture  of  the  houses  and  the  disposition  of  the 
grounds  and  foliage.  Grant  Thorburn,  celebrated  for 
his  flowers  and  eccentricities,  and  withal  his  hospita- 
lity (?)  has  a  plain  economical-looking  mansion  in  the 
vicinity,  behind  which  appeared  the  glazed  roof  of  an 
extensive  hot-house.  His  dwelling  is  utterly  destitute 
of  foliage.  Singular  it  is,  that  one  who  has  passed 
his  life  amid  flowers  and  verdure,  should  choose  a 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  WHIPS.  103 

dwelling  in  which  to  spend  the  decline  of  his  days 
unadorned  or  unblessed  by  sheltering  tree  or  shrub. 

But,  dear  reader,  all  this  is  digressive.  It  is  the 
story  of  "  The  Stage  Coachman/'  to  which  I  would 
invite  your  sympathy.  Farther,  to  your  imagination 
I  leave  our  eventful  passage  of  the  "  Hurl  Gate/' 
honored  by  traditionary  veracity  as  the  boiling  caul- 
dron of  Sathanas — and  how,  as  the  sun  went  down, 
we  entered  the  gradually-widening  sound — how,  far 
in  the  noon  of  night  we  accomplished  the  perilous 
passage  of  the  "  Race."  How,  the  deep  sea  rolled 
landward  its  majestic  waves,  unbroken  and  unimped- 
ed, till  they  burst  with  a  noise  like  thunder  upon  the 
shores  of  Connecticut.  How  the  "  inner  man"  of  the 
major  portion  of  my  Jbllow-passengers  rebelled  at  this 
imwelcome  demonstration  of  Neptune's  power  over 
mortals.  How  "  Point  Judith" — that  region  of  horror 
to  all  v/ho  adventure  between  Manhattan  and  Provi- 
dence— "  tried  men's  souls;"  and  how  the  smooth 
waters  of  the  quiet  basin  of  Newport,  like  the  pool  of 
Siloam,  cured  most  miraculously  all  the  wilom  sea-sick. 
(Newport — your  indulgence,  dear  reader,  for  a  brief 
disression)  S'ewport  is  a  lovely  spot!  The  air  is  elas- 
tic; its  scenery  rural:  its  daughters  fairer  than  you  see 
in  dreams!  It  abounds  in  rural  beauties,  and  is  rich 
in  historical  associations.  What  a  charm  of  romance 
has  the  pen  of  Cooper  thrown  around  it!  The  socie- 
ty, in  the  summer  season,  is  refined  and  southern — 
for  Newport  is  the  Nahant  of  the  southerners — I  mean 
the  Carolinians  and  Georgians!  Cooper's  tower  alone 
invites  a  pilgrimage.  An  ex-governor,  by-the-by,  is 
its  keeper.  The  Tower  of  London  has  a  "  keeper," 
and  why,  forsooth,  should  not  the  romantic  pile  of 
Newport?  The  curious  tourist  should  be  careful  to 
be  provided  with  the  "needful,"  to  obtain  a  sight  of 
it;  for  it  is  carefully  fenced  round  about,  and,  in  the 
opinion  of  his  excellency,  who  forbids  all  to  approach 
it  who  come  not  with  proper  credentials  in  their  pock- 


104  .  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

ets,  is  too  sacred  ground  for  the  feet  of  plebeians  to  de- 
secrate. Such  spots  are  the  property  of  the  civilised 
world — shrines  to  do  pilgrimage  to!  In  two  hours 
after  leaving  Newport,  we  arrived  at  Providence.  The 
steamer  came  slowly  and  majestically  to  the  wharf, 
and  the  cars  could  be  discerned  from  the  deck,  stand- 
ing in  a  long  line  upon  the  track  awaiting  their  occu- 
pants. Who  may  faithfully  describe  the  hurry  and 
confusion  attendant  on  the  debarkation  of  passengers 
from  a  steamer  to  take  their  seats  in  the  cars!  The 
ugly  deity,  Self,  rules  over  the  multitude  then  without 
a  rival.  Trunks,  bandboxes,  and  carpet-bags — how 
they  take  to  themselves  wings  and  fly  then!  The 
wrangling — the  jostling — the  crowding  and  squeezing 
— the  smashing  of  hats,  and  utter  annihilation  of  corns 
— who  but  Madame  Trollope  can  find  pen  or  language 
to  paint  the  scene? 

My  portmanteau  was  among  the  missing!  On  in- 
quiring, I  learned,  little  to  the  benefit  of  my  philoso- 
phy, that,  placed  accidentally  on  the  right  or  starboard 
guard,  under  an  ominous  sign  lettered  "  Newport 
Bas:goge,^^  which,  alas,  met  my  eye  too  late,  it  had 
suffered  the  fate  of  Newport  baggage — videlicet — tum- 
bled ashore  at  Newport,  some  two  hours  before  Som- 
nus  released  me,  reluctantly,  from  his  lethean  embrace. 
In  silence  I  watched  the  rapidly  loading  cars,  and  saw 
the  well-filled  train,  each  man  (the  more  blest  he  who 
owned  none)  in  confident  possession  of  his  baggage. 
After  finding  there  was  no  remedy,  I  resolved  to  bear 
my  detention  with  suitable  patience,  until  I  could  re- 
turn in  the  evening  boat,  for  the  truant  valise;  and 
turning  to  enter  my  state-room,  the  only  occupant  of 
the  deserted  steamer,  I  was  accosted  by  one  who  in- 
quired, if  "  I  had  baggage  to  take  to  town."  I  turn- 
ed quickly  to  annihilate  the  untimely  joker  upon  my 
misfortunes  with  a  look,  w^hen  my  ocular  anathema 
was  converted  into  an  ejaculation  of  pity.  A  more 
pitiful  object  has  seldom  met  my  gaze.  '  His  panta- 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  WHIPS.  105 

loons,  which  scarce  served  to  conceal  his  limbs,  were 
a  strange  medley  of  shreds  of  cloth,  more  strangely- 
put  together;  jacket  or  vest,  he  had  neither;  his  feet 
were  thrust  into  shoes  almost  abridged,  by  long  and 
hard  service,  to  sandals.  He  wore  upon  his  neglect- 
ed locks  an  old  stjaw  hat,  much  shorn  of  its  original 
honors.  His  face  was  rubicund  and  bloated — his  eyes 
red,  wild  and  sunken;  and,  together,  his  whole  ap- 
pearance indicated  the  drunkard  in  the  last  stages  of 
his  fatal  and  unnatural  insanity.  His  face  had,  cer- 
tainly, once  been  handsome,  and  still  bore  traces  of 
manly  beauty.  With  a  quivering  lip,  hollow  voice, 
and  palsied  hand,  he  stood  beside  me,  and  solicited  the 
means  of  earning  a  pittance,  evidently  to  be  applied 
to  the  fatal  object  for  which  he  had  already  sold  his 
constitution,  if  not  also  his  life  and  soul. 

^'  I  have  no  baggage,"  I  replied,  and  turned  away 
from  a  sight  so  degrading  to  humanity.  He  followed 
me  to  the,^door  of  my  state-room;  his  unequal  gait, 
even  at  that  early  hour,  telling  of  that  morning's  im- 
molation of  his  human  nature  upon  the  altar  of  the 
drunkard's  god. 

"  Stop,  sir!  I'll  brush  your  boots  or  coat  for  you." 
Unfortunately  for  the^  applicant,  both^were  unexcep- 
tionable. 

Half  an  hour  afterward  I  stepped  from  my  cabin, 
where  the  deUghtful  pages  of  my  gifted  countrywo- 
man, Mrs.  Sigourney,  had  served  to  soothe  me  into 
forgetfulness  of  my  travelling  mischance,  and  the 
bloated  features  and  ragged  person  of  the  drunkard 
confronted  me. 

"  If  I  give  you  money,  will  you  not  use  it  to  mad- 
den your  brain?"  I  inquired,  balancing  a  shilling  on 
my  finger. 

"  I  shall  do  that,  you  may  depend  upon  it  I"  he  an- 
swered grufflv. 

'•  Then  I  ought  not  to  give  this  piece  of  money  to 


106  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

you.  Wretched  as  you  appear,  you  do  not  deserve 
it.'' 

"  Who  does  deserve  it,  then?"  he  inquired. 

"  The  man  it  will  render  happier." 

"  Then  I  am  your  man,"  he  said,  quickly,  while  his 
eye  lighted  with  a  strange  expression  of  drunken  fe- 
rocity. "Give  it  me!"  and,  as  he  spoke,  he  caught 
my  hand  and  clasped  the  coin  in  his  fingers  with  a 
frenzied  clutch  upon  it.  "  Now,  sir,  I  am  happy  for 
to-day!"  and  he  laughed  in  his  throat  as  he  staggered 
away,  his  voice  and  manner  subdued  to  their  former 
mere  animal  apathy,  muttering,  "  Happy!  happy!  yes! 
this  will  make  me  happy,  indeed!" 

There  was  something,  aside  from  the  strange  lan- 
guage and  deportment  of  the  man,  which  singularly 
interested  me  in  him.  His  features  seemed  familiar;  and 
disguised  as  his  voice  evidently  was  by  the  corrosive 
poison  with  which  he  was  daily  lacerating  his  lungs,  I 
was  confident  I  had  heard  it  before,  and  under  peculi- 
arly interesting  circumstances.  I  searched  the  records 
of  memory,  but  they  gave  no  clue,  and  finally,  I  deter- 
mined to  follow  and'  question  him.  But  when  I  cast  my 
eyes  over  the  pier  for  him,  he  had  disappeared.  I  step- 
pedonshore,turned  my  steps  toward  a  small  "grogery" 
situated  near  the  water,  and  found  him  there!  The 
already  emptied  glass  was  in  his  hand,  and  he  was  re- 
placing it  upon  the  counter  when  I  caught  his  eye. 
With  a  light  step  and  sparkling  eyes, he  approached  me. 

"  I  feel  happy  nowP^  he  said,  striking  his  hand  em- 
phatically upon  his  breast,  and  coming  close  to  me. 
'•  Click!  if  I  was  on  my  box  now  how  I  would  make 
my  four  little  four-in  handers  walk!"  and  he  placed 
himself  upon  a  barrel  which  stood  behind  him,  exten- 
ding his  left  hand,  advancing  his  body,  and  elevating 
his  right  hand,  in  which  he  held  a  switch,  precisely  in 
the  attitude  of  the  most  practised  "whip." 

"  Good  heaven!  my  friend,"  I  exclaimed,  as  this 
accidental  position  became,  at  once,  the  key  to  unlock 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  WHIPS.  107 

the  mystery  which  had  enveloped  the  reminiscence  of 
him,  "can  you  be  Henry,  the  stage-coachman?" 

He  started  and  looked  me,  for  a  moment,  fixedly  in 
the  face,  and  then  grasped  my  hand  with  much  emo- 
tion— 

'*'  Ha,  sir,  you  are  the  stranger  I  took  home  to  see 
INIary  and  the  little  ones!"  and  his  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

Poor  fellow!  my  presence,  as  he  recognised  me,  un- 
locked the  buried  and  liappier  past.  The  last  time, 
four  years  before,  I  knew  him  a  happy  and  enviable 
man;  blessed  with  a  lovely  and  virtuous  wife,  and  the 
delighted  parent  of  two  beautiful  babes.  iNIy  heart 
swelled  and  my  heart  sympathised  with  his  own,  as  I 
contrasted  his  situation  then,  with  his  present  wretch- 
ed condition. 

"Where  is  your  wife,  Henry!"  I  inquired  with 
commiseration.  He  released  my  hand,  and  clenching 
his  fist,  struck  his  temples  with  sudden  violence,  and 
then  hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"Dead!  dead!"  he  answered  after  a  moment's 
pause.  "  I  killed  her,  sir!"  he  said  this  in  the  extrem- 
ity of  abandonment. 

"How?  what  mean  you?" 

"  /  broke  her  heart,  sir/'^ 

"  And  your  children?" 

"  In  the  work-house." 

I  sat  by  him  upon  the  rude  seat  he  had  chosen,  and 
he  told  me  (for  he  was  now  sober,  the  mental  excite- 
ment having  mastered  the  artificial,)  the  sad  tale  of 
the  last  four  years  of  his  life. 

The  morning  on  which  the  rail-road  cars  w^ere  to 
proceed  on  their  first  trip,  the  line  of  stages,  painted  in 
their  gayest  colors  and  drawn  by  fleet  horses,  assem- 
bled as  usual,  at  the  head  of  the  pier,  to  receive  their 
passengers,  as  the  long  expected  steamer  came  plough- 
ing her  way  up  the  bay.     Crowds  collected  to  witness 


108  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

the  spectacle  of  the  opening  of  this  new  and  novel 
mode  of  transporting  travellers,  surveying,  alternately, 
the  singular-looking  cars,  with  their  smalHron  wheels, 
standing  in  a  long  train,  upon  the  yet  untrodden  path, 
the  empty  stages,  more  numerous  than  the  cars,  with 
their  anxious  drivers  mounted,  each  upon  his  elevated 
box,  and  the  approaching  boat,  whose  arrival  was 
about  to  decide  which  of  the  two  mediums  of  convey- 
ance— the  good  old  standard  line  of  stages,  or  the  new- 
fangled, whizzing,  fly-away  and  wicked-looking  cars 
— was  to  hold  the  ascendency. 

The  steamer  came  gallantly  up  to  the  pier,  amid  a 
shout  from  the  assembled  multitude  on  the  shore.  In 
a  few  minutes  all  had  disembarked.  The  "  drivers," 
in  their  white  hats  and  coats,  and  with  their  long 
whips,  were  flying  about  among  the  passengers  with 
additional  activity  and  perseverance,  none  of  them 
exerting  more  than  my  friend  Henry.  But,  to  every 
hasty,  anxious  inquiry,  ''  Coach,  gentlemen? — Boston 
and  Providence  line?"  The  reply  immediately  was, 
"I  take  the  rail-road,"  or  ^'  I  take  the  cars." 

After  some  litde  delay,  attendant  on  the  first  trial 
of  a  new  means  of  locomotion,  the  bells  rung,  the  can- 
non roared,  and  an:iid  the  shouts  of  the  multitude  the 
long  train  of  cars  moved  ofl",  propelled  by  an  unseen 
power,  from  the  pier.  At  first  slowly,  as  if  to  try  her 
powers,  the  train  rolled  over  the  first  section  of  the 
track;  but  gradually,  as  if  confident  in  itself,  its  speed 
increased,  and  darting  rapidly  forward,  in  a  few  mo- 
ments it  was  lost  to  the  sight  of  the  wondering  crowd. 

Alas !  the  poor  coachmen !  they  had  assembled  at 
their  usual  post,  near  the  head  of  the  pier,  confident  of 
their  usual  "  fare,"  and  never  dreaming  that  men,  who 
had  a  suitable  regard  for  the  weal  of  their  own  souls 
and  bodies,  would  intrust  them  to  the  tender  mercies 
of  such  a  fierv"- winged  monster  as  the  black,  puffing 
engine,  which  all  the  country  round  had  journeyed  to 
gaze  at  as  an  eighth  wonder  in  the  world.  Their  laugh 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  WHIPS.  109 

was  merry  as  ever,  and  their  jokes  as  numerous,  when 
the  boat,  her  decks  crowded  with  passengers,  hove  in 
sight.  But  when  they  saw,  one  after  another,  their 
legitimate  fare  preferring  the  new  mode  of  locomo- 
tion, the  joke  died  unuttered  on  their  lips,  their  faces 
grew  long,  and  their  hearts  sunk,  and,  some  with 
curses  upon  "  all  new-fangled  inventions,  to  steal  ho- 
nest people's  bread  out  of^their  mouths,"  and  others 
with  depressed  bosoms,  gathering  up  their  now  use- 
less ribands,  they  moved  slowly  and  silently  back  to 
town. 

About  two  months  from  that  day  three  individuals, 
thus  thrown  out  of  employment,  bound  themselves  by 
a  solemn  oath,  to  give  all  possible  hindrance  to  rail- 
road travelling.  The  next  day  after  this  conspiracy 
was  formed,  by  some  means  unaccountable  to  the  pub- 
lic, the  train  was  thrown  from  the  track,  but  fortu- 
nately without  injury.  The  next  day  a  similar  "  ac- 
cident," as  it  was  heralded,  occurred,  and  one  person 
nearly  lost  his  life  by  the  violence  with  which  he  was 
thrown  from  the  cars.  The  next  day  the  cars  were 
only  saved  from  total  demolition  by  the  presence  of 
mind  of  the  engineer.  It  was  now  sufficiently  clear 
that  some  enemy  was  abroad  who  was  busy  at  this 
mischief.  A  watch  was  set,  and  one  of  the  perpetra- 
tors was  detected.  I  grieve  to  say  it — but  the  guilty 
man  was  Henry  I  In  his  defence  he  pleaded  that  he 
had  stuck  to  the  line  till  it  was  broken  up  and  his 
"vocation"  gone;  then  he  had  sought  fruitlessly,  and 
in  vain,  for  employment  on  other  lines,  but  that  "  no 
man  would  hire  him,"  and  that  his  money  was  all 
expended,  and  his  family  calling  upon  him  for  the 
reward  of  a  husband  and  a  father's  toil.  "  What  could 
I  do?"  he  said;  "  I  could  not  see  them  suffer.  The 
short  and  long  of  it  is,  sir,  that  I  took  to  drink  and 
treated  Mary  cruelly.  One  night  several  of  my  old 
mates  met  me  at  the  tavern  close  by  my  house,  and, 
in  an  unlucky  moment  when  the  liquor  was  in,  I 
10 


no  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

agreed  to  join  ^em  in  breaking  up  the  rail-road.  I  was 
arrested."  His  punishment  was  Hght,  but  he  never 
recovered  from  the  degradation  consequent  on  the 
piibUc  exposure  of  his  crime;  nordidhis  wife,  the  gen- 
tle Mary,  long  survive  the  shock  thus  given  to  her  re- 
fined and  virtuous  sensibility.  In  a  few  months  after- 
ward she  died  of  a  broken  heart — thus  ever,  it  appears 
to  me,  die  the  fairest  of  earth's  flowers — and  was  laid 
by  her  friends  in  a  lonely  and  tearless  grave  in  the 
village  churchyard.  Her  husband  knew  not  of  her 
death  till  the  earth  had  closed  over  her  form.  For 
many  days  previous  he  knew  no  other  home  than  the 
grog-shop,  no  other  nutriment  than  the  contents  of  his 
bottle. 

When,  during  a  lucid  (sober)  interval,  he  returned 
and  found  his  hearth  deserted,  and  his  child  taken 
away  by  the  charitable,  (for  there  are  a  few  such  even 
in  this  world,)  a  new  possessor  of  his  once  happy  cot- 
tage told  him  the  sad  tale.  From  that  hour  he  had 
been  descending  till  I  met  him,  the  low  and  abject 
thing  I  have  described  him  in  another  page,  outcast 
from  his  fellows,  an  alien  from  society,  striving,  in 
vain,  to  bury  the  recollection  of  the  past. 

"  Sir,  will  you  give  me  another  shilling?"  he  asked, 
as  he  concluded  his  sad  recital.  "  I  cannot  bear  to 
think  of  these  things.     I  must  drink  andforget!^^ 

On  my  return  from  Boston,  a  few  weeks  afterwards, 
I  was  informed  that  Henry  Salford,  "  the  last  of  the 
stage-coachmen,"  had  ended  his  miserable  existence 
by  a  suicidal  death. 


THE    ILLEGITIMATE; 


PROPHECY  OF  UIQUERA. 


THE  ILLEGITIMATE 


"  A  curse  be  ever  on  thy  race — 
Down  to  a  well-earned  doom  they  go — 
Thankless  and  dishonored  slaves.'" 

The  life  and  times  of  Charles  of  England,  the  gay- 
est and  most  gallant  monarch,  since  the  days  of  that 
oriental  potentate,  so  famous  for  wisdom  and  architec- 
ture, have  been  prolific  themes,  not  only  for  the  ele- 
gant pens  of  the  elegant  courtiers  of  the  period,  and 
the  graver  historian,  but  for  the  exercise  of  the  genius 
and  talents  of  graceful  female  biographers  of  the  pre- 
sent age. 

It  is  at  the  close  of  this  era  of  gallantry,  beauty  and 
wit,  an  era  in  which  the  warlike  knight  began  to 
merge  into  the  pacific  gentleman  of  hound  and  horn, 
and  tournaments  gave  place  to  contests  in  the  political 
arena,  and  when  the  memory  of  this  erring  but  ami- 
able prince  lived  only  in  the  hearts  of  his  subjects — 
his  vices  forgotten,  his  virtues  alone  remembered — that 
we  open  the  first  scene  of  our  tale. 


"  Nay,  sweet  Lady  Mary — your  eyes  betray  vour 
10* 


114  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

heart  I  That  diamond  trembling  upon  their  rich'frin- 
ges  contradicts  your  words;"  and  the  speaker  spurred 
the  high-blooded  animal  upon  which  he  was  mounted, 
closer  by  the  side  of  the  ambling  palfrey,  ridden  by 
the  lovely  girl  he  addressed.  ^'  Say  not  I  must  forget 
you,  Mary!  On  the  morrow,  my  uncle  sends  me  to 
Eton.  May  not  your  love  bless  me,  absent  from  you? 
Oh,  recall,  dear  cousin,  that  chilling  word!  Say  not 
there  is  no  hopeV 

A  moment's  embarrassing  silence  ensued,  when, 
crushing  a  tear  which  glittered  beneath  her  dark  eye- 
lashes, the  maiden  drew  her  veil  closely  over  her  face, 
and  shaking  her  silken  bridle,  bounded  forward  with 
velocity,  as  if  in  the  fleetness  of  her  movements,  she 
would  annihilate  the  feelings  which  tortured  her  young 
bosom.  With  equal  speed  the  youth  galloped  by  her 
side  down  the  solemn  glades  of  the  old  forest,  until 
they  came  in  sight  of  the  towers  of  an  ancient  castle, 
lifting  themselves  with  gothic  grandeur  above  the  ma- 
jestic oaks,  which  for  centuries  had  encircled  them. 

The  maiden  was  the  daughter  of  its  noble  earl;  and 
the  honors,  titles  and  wealth  she  inherited,  were  only 
equalled  by  her  surpassing  loveliness.  Her  complexion 
was  like  the  purest  ocean-pearl,  which  a  mellow  sun- 
set cloud  has  delicately  tinted  with  its  own  roseate 
hue.  Her  dark  chesnut  hair  escaped  from  beneath  her 
riding  hat,  and  floated  around  her  shoulders  in  a  cloud 
of  natural  tresses.  Her  eyes  were  large,  and  eloquent 
in  their  expression,  and  of  the  same  rich  brown  shade 
as  her  hair.  She  had  not  yet  numbered  fifteen  sum- 
mers— a  gay,  wild,  fascinating  child,  yet  all  the  wo- 
man in  the  depth  and  fervor  of  her  feelings. 

Her  form  was  moulded  with  the  symmetry  of  a 
sylph's;  and  as  she  bounded  on  her  fleet  courser 
through  the  wood,  imagination  might  have  deified  her 
as  the  queen  of  the  sylvan  empire,  through  which  she 
rode,  and  leader  of  its  train  of  fairy  nymphs. 

The  youth  who  accompanied  her,  was  also  surpass- 


THE  ILLEGITIMATE.  115 

ingly  fair;  a  fitting  mate  for  so  sweet  a  dove.  His 
hair  was  black  as  the  raven's  pkime  which  danced 
over  his  riding  hood,  and  flowed  in  thick  curls  about 
his  neck.  His  brows  were  arched  and  dark,  and  his 
forehead  wore  that  lofty  and  noble  air,  said  to  be  the 
birthright  of  England's  nobles.  His  eyes  were 
exceedingly  black,  and  a  voluptuous  languor  dwelt 
about  his  mouth.  The  upper  Up  was  curved  slightly, 
evincing  a  native  haughtiness  of  spirit.  The  contour 
of  his  face  was  a  fauhless  oval.  He  counted  perhaps 
seventeen  winters  and  summers. 

They  were  lovers. 

As  they  came  in  sight  of  the  distant  turrets,  the 
maiden  reined  in  her  spirited  animal,  and  putting  aside 
her  veil,  turned  with  a  smile,  like  an  April  sunshine, 
whilst  tears  danced  in  her  brilliant  eyes,  towards  her 
companion: 

"  Charles — you  well  know  I  love  you.  It  is  useless 
for  me  to  attempt  to  disguise  it.  But,  but — "  and  as 
she  paused  and  hesitated,  the  rich  blood  mounted  to 
her  cheek  and  brow,  whilst  she  dropped  her  eyes  in 
painful  embarrassment. 

"  But  what?  sweet  Mary!  Why,  cousin,  this  silence 
and  emotion?"  he  inquired  with  animation — his  brow 
paling  with  the  presentiment  of  evil;  and  he  laid  his 
hand  emphatically  upon  her  arm  as  he  spoke. 

"  Charles !  They  tell  me — that— that— " 

"  Nay  ^torture  me  not  with  suspense,"  he  cried,  as 
she  hesitated  to  proceed;  and  springing  from  his  horse 
he  grasped  with  eager  and  inquiring  anxiety  both  of 
her  hands. 

"They  tell  me,  my  dear  Charles — but  oh,  1  will  not 
believe  it,"  she  added,  bending  her  head  till  it  rested 
upon  his  shoulder,  to  conceal  her  emotion — '•  they  tell 
me — you  are  the  late  king's  son!" 

The  poor  youth  relaxed  his  hold  upon  her  bridle, 
which  he  had  suddenly  seized — the  hand  locked  in  the 
maiden's,  convulsively  unclasped,  and  with  a  brow 


1  1  6  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

changed  to  the  hue  of  death,  he  fell  without  a  word, 
or  sign  of  life  to  the  earth. 


A  gay  anniversary  was  announced  for  celebration 
in  the  halls  of  Eton.  The  princes,  and  nobles,  and 
the  beauty  of  the  land  were  assembled  there  to  honor 
the  fete. 

The  venerable  religious  pile  in  which  the  concluding 
ceremonies  of  the  day  were  held  was  living  with 
beauty,  and  gorgeous  with  the  display  of  diamonds 
and  jewels,  and  the  magnificent  dresses  of  knights  and 
gentlemen. 

A  youth,  whose  striking  figure  and  handsome  fea- 
tures created  a  murmur  of  surprise  throughout  the  as- 
sembly, whilst  one  or  two  dowager  countesses  were 
seen  to  draw  forth  miniatures,  and  whispering,  com- 
pare them  amid  many  signs  of  intelUgence,  with  his 
appearance,  advanced  with  grace  and  modesty  to  re- 
ceive, above  all  competitors,  the  highest  collegiate  ho- 
nor of  that  day,  to  be  conferred  by  the  royal  hands  of 
James  himself 

As  he  bent  on  one  knee,  and  inclined  his  head  to 
receive  the  golden  chain  and  medal,  a  youth,  near  his 
own  age,  his  unsuccessful  rival  for  the  distinction,  with 
a  lowering  brow,  and  small,  deep  set  eyes,  his  hair, 
and  such  portions  of  his  dress  as  were  not  concealed  by 
his  gown,  cut  after  the  popular  fashion  of  the  times  of 
the  Long  Parliament,  rose  boldly  from  his  chair  and 
cried  in  a  loud  harsh  tone: — 

"  Hold!  He  whom  you  would  thus  honor,  is  the 
illegitimate  son  of  Charles!'^ 

All  eyes  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  audacious 
speaker,  and  the  brow  of  the  monarch  grew  black 
with  indignation. 

"  Young  Cromwell!  It  is  young  Cromwell !"  passed 
from  mouth  to  mouth,  while  surprise  at  this  sudden 


THE  ILLEGITIMATE.  1 17 

and  singular  announcement,  fixed  every  eye,  alter- 
nately upon  the  malicious  interrupter  of  the  ceremo- 
nies, and  upon  the  ill-fated  Charles. 

With  a  cry  of  despair  that  filled  every  hosom,  and 
burying  his  face  in  the  folds  of  his  robe,  the  sensitive 
and  disgraced  youth  rushed  forth  from  the  Chapel. 

•Many  days  afterwards,  the  rumor  was  rife  among 
the  Etonians,  and  in  the  higher  circles  of  the  king- 
dom, through  Avhich  this  strange  tale  was  circulated, 
that  the  victim  of  young  Cromwell's  malignity  and 
revenge,  who  with  the  true  spirit  of  his  grandsire,  had 
expressed  his  bitterness  against  all  associated  with  roy- 
alty and  THE  CHARLES,  had  fled  an  exile  over 
sea  to  the  "  New  World,"  as  the  continent  of  Ameri- 
ca was  denominated,  even  at  that  comparatively  late 
period. 


The  province,  formerly,  and  now  state,  of  Maine, 
where  we  transfer  the  scenes  of  this  tale,  is  constituted 
of  lands,  originally  possessed  by  several  tribes  of  war- 
like Indians.  The  most  powerful  of  these  were  the 
Kennebec  and  Penobscot  tribes — names  harsh  and 
uneuphonious  in  the  ear  of  an  European.*      The 

*  The  languages  of  the  tribes  once  occupying  the  territory  of  the 
United  States,  follow  the  same  laws  characteristic  of  the  languages  of 
Europe. 

The  dialects  of  Europe  become  softer  or  harsher  as  they  are  spoken 
more  northerly  or  southerly;  so  in  Italy  we  find  a  language  which  has 
become  but  another  term  for  poetry  and  melody. 

Harsh  consonants,  gutturals,  and  abrupt  monosyllables,  are  peculiar 
to  the  northern  tribes  of  America;  and  Penobscot,  Androscoggin,  Nor- 
ridgwock,  Saccarapac,  Schohegan,  Monadnock,  Cochreah,  and  Kenne- 
bunk,  are  sounds  as  characteristic  of  the  languages  of  those  tribes  once 
inhabiting  New  England,  as,  Chitalusa,  Homachitta,  Alabama,  Atcha- 
falaya,  Altamaha,  Natches,  Natchitoches,  Mississippi,  (whose  original 
name  is  Mesach^be,)  of  the  tribes  of  the  South. 


1  IS  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

former  dwelt  on  the  banks  of  the  beautitul  river,  to 
which  they  have  left  their  name.  Their  hunting 
grounds  extended  west  and  south  to  the  river  Saco. 
Their  eastern  boundary  was  the  Damariscotta  river, 
which  also  formed  the  western  limits  of  the  Penob- 
scots.  This  tribe  possessed  the  lands  watered  by  the 
river  bearing  its  name.  Their  eastern  limits  were  un- 
defined, but  constantly  enlarging  with  the  progress 
of  their  conquests  over  their  less  powerful  neighbors. 

Between  this  tribe  and  the  Kennebecs,  an  hereditary 
war  had  existed,  to  use  the  emphatic  figure  of  a  late 
chief,  "  since  the  oldest  oak  of  the  forest  was  an 
acorn.'' 

They  were  also  of  different  religions.  The  Kenne- 
becs worshipped  a  spirit  who  they  imagined  presided 
over  their  rivers  and  lakes,  whom  they  denominated 
Kenlascasca,  or.  The  Angel  of  the  Waters.  In  the 
Umpid  bosom  of  their  divinity,  they  buried  their  dead, 
worshipped  him  in  the  descending  rain,  and  propitia- 
ted him  by  human  sacrifices,  which  they  immolated  in 
deep  waters,  when,  in  his  anger,  he  sufiered  them  to 
swell  above  their  banks. 

The  Penobscots  worshipped  the  great  mountain, 
Coalacas,*  which  lifted  its  blue  head  to  the  skies  in 
the  midst  of  their  hunting  grounds.  When  the  storm- 
clouds  gathered  about  his  summit,  and  he  veiled  his 
face  from  them  in  displeasure,  when  his  voice  was 
heard  in  the  loud  thunder,  and  the  glance  of  his  angry 
eye  seen  in  the  lightnings,  they  trembled;  and  as  a  sa- 
crifice, which  should  at  the  same  time  avert  his  wrath, 
and  manifest  their  obedience  and  submission,  they 
sacrificed  by  fire,  a  fawn  of  one  spring. 

Upon  the  summit  of  this  mountain  dwelt  the  priest 
of  their  religion,  who  administered  in  a  rude  temple, 
to  which  the  whole  tribe  once  a  ^^ear  performed  pil- 
grimage, the  sacred  duties  of  his  office.  At  this  shrine, 

*  Blue  Hill,  Gainpden,  Maine. 


THE  ILLEGITIMATE.  119 

the  young  warrior  sought  success  in  battle — the  maid- 
en, in  love,  the  injured,  in  justice  or  revenge. 

The  sage  and  prophet  of  his  people,  and  visible  pre- 
sence of  their  divinity  was  denominated  Uiquera,  or 
The  priest  of  the  Mountain.  He  was  aged,  and  gray 
hairs  thinly  sprinkled  his  bronzed  and  time-worn 
temples. 

It  was  evening — an  evening  of  that  mild  and  hazy 
time,  when  autumn,  is  losing  itself  in  winter,  termed 
the  Indian  Summer,  and  peculiar  to  New  England — 
when  the  aged  patriarch  stood  upon  a  rock  in  front  of 
his  hut,  gazuig  upon  the  vast  landscape  beneath  him, 
mellowed  by  the  peculiar  atmosphere  of  the  season,  to 
the  soft,  dreamy  features  of  an  Italian  scene. 

To  the  north,  forests,  tinged  with  mingled  gold  and 
purple,  orange  and  vermillion,  and  dyed  with  a  thou- 
sand intermediate  hues — a  gorgeousnes  of  scenery- 
found  only  in  America — and  yet  untrodden  by  others 
than  the  beast  of  prey,  or  of  the  chase,  and  his  Indian 
hunter,  stretched  away,  league  added  to  league,  till 
they  met  the  horizon.  Still  farther  north,  breaking 
with  unequal  lines  this  meeting  of  sky  and  woods, 
towered  the  summits  of  a  chain  of  mountains,  consti- 
tuting the  dividing  ridge,  between  the  waters  flowing 
into  the  great  river  of  the  north,  and  the  less  majestic 
streams,  that,  coursing  southward,  seek  the  Atlantic 
sea.  To  the  east  and  west,  forests  alone  bounded  the 
view.  On  the  south,  bays  penetrated  far  inland  nearly 
to  the  base  of  the  mountain,  and  beyond  was  the  deep, 
restless  sea,  extending  far  away,  until  sky  and  ocean 
alone  met  the  eye. 

The  aged  man  gazed  upon  the  vast  prospect  thus 
spread  out,  like  a  map  beneath  him,  and  wondered  as 
he  gazed,  at  the  greatness  and  power  of  the  Great 
Spirit  who  created  it. 

"  Father!"  spoke  tremulously  a  sweet  and  child-like 
voice. 

"  My  child!"  he  said  calmly  turning,  and  placing  his 


120  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

hand  upon  the  head  of  a  lovely  maiden  kneeling  at 
his  feet,  the  only  daughter  of  the  chief  of  her  tribe. 

"  Father — they  teach  me  that  you  are  favored  by  the 
good  Manitoula.  His  aid  I  have  come  to  seek,  through 
you,  his  minister!" 

"  It  is  thine,  daughter — speak!"  he  replied  with  dig- 
nity, and  in  a  mild  and  encouraging  tone. 

"  Anasca,  the  young  chief  of  the  Kennebecs,  with 
many  gifts  and  promises  of  land,  and  offers  of  peace 
and  amity,  demands  me  of  my  father  in  marriage!" 
and  the  Indian  maid  bowed  her  head  to  the  earth  in 
silence,  awaiting  his  reply. 

"Does  this  please  the  chief, thy  father?" 

"  Oh,  I  know  not — the  offer  is  tempting;  and  yet  he 
should  love  me  better  than  thus  to  sacrifice  me!" 

"  Will  it  be  a  sacrifice,  if  it  is  to  obey  thy  father's 
will,  my  daughter?" 

"  Oh,  yes — yes — " 

"  Lina,  dost  thou  cherish  hatred  against  the  young 
warrior?" 

"No,  oh  no!  but  I  love  him  not.  I  fear  him  I"  she 
added  with  energy. 

"  Whom  then  dost  thou  love,  child,  that  thou  canst 
not  love  this  youth?  They  tell  me  he  is  a  brave  young 
chief,  and  of  noble  bearing,  though,  perhaps,  hasty  and 
passionate  withal." 

"Love?  love?  oh,  none  but  you  and  my  father!" 
she  replied  with  the  undisguised  artlessness  of  her  sim- 
ple nature. 

"  Daughter,"  said  the  seer  solemnly,  "it  becomes  us 
to  make  peace.  If  friendship  may  ensue  between 
those  so  long  at  enmity,  by  this  proposed  union,  it 
should  be  sought,  but  not  at  the  sacrifice  of  thy  hap- 
piness. Wilt  thou  wed  him  maiden?"  he  added  ab- 
ruptly, taking  her  hand  and  looking  steadily  into  her 
face. 

"  Oh  no,  no,  no,  father !  I  would  rather  the  lightning 


THE  ILLEGITIMATE.  121 

of  the  Great  Spirit  in  his  anger,  should  consume  me, 
than  wed  him!  Oh  save!— save  me— my  falher!"  she 
cried,  imploringly  chnging  to  his  robe. 

"  Fear  not,  thou  shalt  not  wed  him,  Lina,"  he  said, 
smiling,  raising  her  from  her  suppliant  posture. 
"  Where  is  this  youth?"  he  inquired,  atfectionately  and 
soothingly,  parting  the  dark  hair  from  her  face  as  he 
gazed  down  into  it. 

"  I  left  him  three  mornings  since,  with  many  of  his 
warriors,  encamped  opposite  the  council  island.  When 
I  learned  for  what  he  came,  with  the  swiftness  of  the 
brood-bird,  when  she  seeks  her  nestling  from  the  com- 
ing storm,  I  fled  to  the  holy  mountain,  and  thee,  for 
shelter!  Oh,  wilt  thou  not  give  it  me,  holy  father?"  she 
added  clasping  his  arm,  and  looking  up  into  his  face 
beseechingly. 

"  Daughter— thou  hast  it  already!"  he  replied  with 
emotion r  "thou  shalt  not  wed  this  stranger." 

^-  False  priest— thou  liest!"  shouted  a  voice  behind 
them;  and  a  spear,  thrown  by  an  unseen  and  unerring 
hand,  simultaneously  pierced  the  bosom  of  the  patri- 
arch. He  fell  to  the  earth  with  a  deep  groan,  and  the 
maiden  uttering  a  shriek  o{  terror  and  dismay,  cast 
herself  upon  his  bleeding  body. 

"  Welcome,  my  gentle" fawn  of  the  lakes!  thou  hast 
found  thy  holy  mountain  will  not  protect  thee,  and 
thy  priest  is  mortal — "  said  the  young  Anasca,  taunt- 
ingly, approaching  and  raising  her  from  the  form  of 
his  victim.  "  Old"  man,  I  would  not  have  slain  thee, 
but  thou  wert  poisoning  this  little  bird's  talons  and 
turning  them  against  thy  own  breast." 

'^  Sacrilegious  murderer!"  suddenly  exclaimed  the 
seer,  raising  upon  one  arm — his  white  hair  sprinkled 
with  blood,  that  in  a  warm  current  oozed  from  a 
wound  in  his  breast,  where  the  spear  which  inflicted 
it,  still  vibrated, — "  Scorner  of  reUgion  and  the  Great 
Spirit  of  earth  and  sky!  Thy  doom  and  that  of  thy 
11 


122  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

race  is  sealed!"  and  his  eye  dilated  and  became  radi- 
ant with  prophetic  inspiration  as  he  continued:  "  Here ! 
on  the  holy  altar  thou  hast  desecrated,  do  I  anathema- 
tize thee!  Every  drop  of  this  gurgling  blood  shall 
beget  a  curse  upon  thee  and  thine !  Accursed  be  thy 
impious  race!  A  people  greater  than  thine — more 
numerous  than  the  stars  of  heaven— shall  take  thy 
lands,  thy  power,  and  thy  name!  Another  century 
shall  roll  by  and  thou  shalt  be  remembered  no  more! 
Last  chieftain  of  thy  tribe!''  he  continued  with  addi- 
tional energy,  "  on  thee,  come  all  evil  and  all  woe! 
Cursed  of  sky  and  sea — cursed  of  air  and  earth — be 
thou  accursed  forever!'' 

*'  Daughter !"  he  continued  with  supernatural  excite- 
ment, whilst  the  young  chief  stood  appalled  and  trans- 
fixed with  horror,  before  the  wild  air  and  prophetic 
language  of  the  dying  priest — "  daughter,  blessed  art 
thou  above  all  the  maidens  of  thy  tribe !  Thou  shalt 
become  a  Saviour  of  thy  people  and  thy  name.  For 
every  curse  that  follows  this  unholy  assassin,  shall  a 
blessing  come  upon  thee  and  thine.  The  people  who 
shall  bring  woe  to  him,  shall  bring  joy  to  thee!  Thou 
— thyself — art  destined  to  become  the  preserver  of  thy 
father's  tribe— and  when  all  the  nations  of  this  land 
^  shall  have  dwindled  like  the  mountain  dews  before 
the  morning,  at  the  approach  of  a  race  from  the  East, 
[  with  faces  white  like  the  moon,  and  arms  brighter 
khan  the  sun,  and  more  terrible  than  thunder,  thy  name 
-^hall  exist — thy  people  be  yet  numbered  among  their 
h^Ltions.  And,'  whilst  the  tribe  of  this  impious  assas- 
sin shall  expire  in  their  ignorance,  a  new  and  purer 
religion,  revealed  from  the  heavens,  shall  be  taught 
thee  by  this  new  race,  who  with  eyes  like  the  deep 
blue  of  the  noon-day  sky,  and  faces  white  like  a  sum- 
mer cloud,  are  to  rule  our  land — and  in  the  bosom  of 
their  great  empire,  thine  own  tribe  shall  dwell  forever!" 
Thus  speaking,  the  last  prophet  of  his  religion  and 


THE  ILLEGITIMATE.  123 

people,  sunk  back  to  the  ground,  and  upwards,  from 
the  mountain  altar  of  his  religion  and  worship,  his 
spirit  took  its  flight  to  the  world  of  mysteries. 


Podiac,  is  a  romantic,  rocky  promontory  projecting 
mto  the  sea,  and  forming  the  southern  shore  of  the 
bay  of  Casco,  which,  with  its  three  hundred  and  sixty- 
five  islands,  penetrates  the  heart  of  INIaine. 

It  is  on  this  promontory,  now  called  Cape  Elizabeth, 
in  honor  of  the  Maiden  Queen,  that  the  scenes  of  our 
fifth  chapter  are  laid,  a  few  days  after  the  death  of 
the  venerable  seer,  Uiquera. 

One  of  the  wild  storms,  peculiar  to  that  coast,  had  for 
three  days  poured  its  fury  upon  the  sea,  lashing  it  into 
foam.  The  fourth  morning  broke  with  cloudless  bril- 
liancy, and  discovered  the  wreck  of  a  ship,  dismasted, 
and  in  pieces,  lying  in  a  crevice  on  the  extremity  of 
the  southern  cape  of  the  promontory — which,  here 
dividing,  form  two  points  projecting  farther  into  the 
sea  than  the  main  head-land.  At  the  present  day, 
both  of  these  points  are  crowned  by  light-houses,  the 
upper  one  of  which  is  a  favorite  resort  for  the  gay 
citizens  of  an  adjacent  sea-port,*  situated  on  a  penin- 
sula a  few  miles  farther  inland.  But  at  the  period  of 
our  tale,  it  was  the  abode  only  of  the  sea-gull,  who 
nested  in  the  crevices  of  the  cliffs,  and  bears,  and 
wolves,  who  mingled  their  bowlings  with  the  roaring 
of  the  tempests. 

The  storm  had  subsided,  yet  the  waves  rolled  land- 
ward with  violence,  dashing  against  the  cliffs  with  a 
loud  noise,  flinging  the  spray  high  over  their  summits 
and  reverberating  in  hollow  sounds  through  its  deep 
caverns. 

The  rising  sun  shone  cheerfully  upon  the  scene,  dis- 

*  Portland,  Maine. 


124  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER 

sipating  the  hurrying  clouds,  and  shedding  an  enUven- 
ing  radiance  over  nature. 

Firmly  wedged  between  two  rocks,  at  the  extremi- 
ty of  the  southern  point  of  the  cape,  lay  the  wreck, 
its  masts  broken  off,  a  jury-mast,  upon  which  a  sail 
was  brailed  up,  and  only  a  portion  of  the  hull  visible 
above  the  waves,  which  rolling  continually  over  it, 
surged  against  the  overhanging  rocks. 

The  only  living  being  upon  which  the  sun  shone, 
was  a  young  man,  the  sole  sm'vivor  of  the  ill-fated 
bark,  who,  pale  from  fatigue — his  dark  hair  and  gar- 
ments heavy  and  dripping  with  brine — was  laborious- 
ly ascending  from  the  wreck,  the  sides  of  the  rock,  to 
escape  the  surge,  which,  several  times,  nearly  washed 
him  off  into  the  sea. 

With  a  bold  eye  and  a  strong  arm,  although  nearly 
exhausted,  he  still  clung  to  such  projections  as  the  face 
of  the  cliff  afforded;  and  soon  gained  a  secure  footing 
upon  the  summit  of  a  flat  rock,  beyond  the  reach  of 
the  waves.  Here,  he  bent  devoutly  on  one  knee,  and 
lifted  his  eyes  and  hands  in  a  prayer  of  thankfulness 
for  his  deliverance. 

Whilst  in  this  attitude,  a  female  figure,  flying,  rath- 
er than  running,  along  the  verge  of  the  cliff  above 
him,  intercepted  his  vision.  Surprised,  he  followed  it 
a  moment  with  his  eyes,  when  it  disappeared  in  a 
crevice  of  the  promontory.  The  next  moment,  anoth- 
er form  clad  like  an  Indian  hunter,  with  equal  speed, 
as  if  in  ])ursuit,  bounded  along  the  cliff  and  was  also 
lost  to  his  sight  in  the  gorge. 

An  instant  of  surprise  and  expectation  elapsed, 
when  the  airy  and  graceful  figure  he  had  first  seen — a 
young  and  beautiful  Indian  maiden,  issued  from  the 
gap  which  for  a  few  seconds  had  concealed  her,  and 
with  the  fleetness  of  a  dove  pursued  by  a  hawk,  ap- 
proached the  spot  where  he  still  kneeled.  Her  raven 
hair  flew  wildly  about  her  head,  and  her  robe  of  varie- 
gated feathers  fluttered  like  wings  around  her  person. 


THE  ILLEGITIMATE.  125 

Over  the  sharp-pointed  rocks  and  slipper^'  sea-weed 
she  bounded  safely,  and  was  darting  past  liim  with 
the  air  of  one  who  would  plunge  headlong  into  the 
sea,  when  her  eye  caught  the  form  of  the  youth. 

She  suddenly  checked  her  flight,  and  gazed  upon 
him  for  a  moment  with  a  look  of  timidity  and  inde- 
cision— one  foot  advanced  as  if  she  would  still  fly, 
and  a  hand  extended  towards  him  entreatingly.  For 
an  instant,  like  a  beautiful  statue,  she  stood  in  this  at- 
titude, and  then,  with  strange  confidence  advanced  to- 
wards him — rested  one  hand  upon  the  rock  by  which 
he  kneeled — gazed  steadily  into  his  face  for  a  second, 
and  then  with  the  unsuspecting  confidence  of  a  child 
who  fears  no  danger,  softly  and  timidly  placed  her 
hand  upon  his  arm,  while  her  dark  eyes  full  of  elo- 
quent pleading,  silently  sought  his  protection. 

The  youth,  at  once,  understood  this  language,  more 
eloquent  than  that  of  the  tongue  or  pen.  Scarcely  had 
they  interchanged  this  mutual  understanding  and  con- 
fidence, when  the  young  warrior,  Anasca,  who  had  torn 
her  from  the  corpse  of  the  prophet,  and  borne  her  to  his 
tribe,  who  were  then  hunting  on  the  south  shore  of 
the  CascOjfrom  whom  she  had  just  escaped,  preferring 
death  to  a  union  with  one  she  loved  not — appeared  in 
sight,  his  eye  flashing  with  rage,  and  his  arm  extend- 
ed in  the  act  of  launching  his  hunting-spear. 

The  stranger  drew  from  his  breast  a  small  Genoese 
stiletto,  sprung  to  his  feet,  and  met  him  face  to  face. 
The  surprise  of  the  Indian  was  unlimited!  The  sud- 
den appearance  of  one  of  a  race  he  had  never  before 
seen — his  hostile  attitude — his  manifest  design  to  pro- 
tect the  lovely  and  trembling  fugitive,  combined  with 
a  recollection  of  the  prophecy  of  the  dying  seer,  para- 
lysed and  fixed  him  to  the  spot,  with  astonishment  and 
dismay. 

Ashe  stood  thus  under  the  influence  of  these  emotions, 
the  youth  sprang  upon  him  and  seized  his  spear.  The 
act  restored  liini  to  his  self-possession.     He  became 

11* 


126  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

once  more  the  warrior,  whose  name — Anasca,  The 
fearless — he  had  won  by  his  prowess  and  deeds  of 
arms,  by  which  he  had  already  signalised  himself 
al)0ve  the  warriors  and  preceding  chieftains  of  his 
tribe. 

For  a  few  moments  the  two  young  combatants  con- 
tended, with  all  their  skill  and  bravery,  when  with 
a  well-aimed  blow  of  his  stiletto  the  youth  laid  the 
3'oung  chief  dead  at  his  feet. 

With  a  cry  of  joy,  Lina  rushed  into  the  arms  of  her 
preserver.    ■■ 


The  warriors  of  the  Penobscot  tribe  had  assembled 
upon  the  island  in  the  river  which  bears  their  name, 
where  their  chief  resided,  and  the  national  councils 
convened — to  consult  upon  the  expediency  of  mak- 
ing an  excursion  upon  the  Kennebecs,  for  the  re- 
covery of  their  chief's  daughter,  and  to  avenge  the  in- 
sult they  had  received.  In  the  midst  of  their  delibe- 
rations a  birch  canoe  was  discovered  ascending  the 
river,  with  a  small  white  sail,  such  as  the  oldest  war- 
rior had  never  before  seen,  spread  to  the  south  wind 
and  containing  two  persons.  As  no  danger  was  to  be 
apprehended  from  so  small  a  party,  the  chief  and  his 
warriors  awaited  its  approach  in  silence. 

As  the  boat  came  nearer,  a  visible  emotion  was 
manifest  among  the  spectators. 

"  It  is  the  chief's  daughter!" 

"It  is  Lina!" 

"My  child!  my  daughter!"  cried  the  old  chief, 
rushing  to  the  strand,  where  he  embraced  his  child, 
as  she  bounded  from  the  canoe  into  his  extended 
arms. 

Her  companion  who  had  been  concealed  by  the  can- 
vass sail  he  had  taken  from  the  wreck,  to  forward  their 
escape,  after,  with  Lina's  guidance  he  had  secured  one 
of  the  boats  of  Anasca's  tribe,  now  stepped  upon  the 


THE  ILLEGITIMATE.  127 

beach;  and  baring  his  head,  he  placed  his  hand  upon 
his  heart,  in  token  of  amity. 

The  chief  started  back  with  an  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise at  his  strange  beauty  and  attire,  and  in  the  first 
emotion  of  his  feelings,  fell  with  his  face  to  the  ground, 
followed  in  this  act  of  reverence,  by  all  the  warriors 
surrounding  him,  who  shared  his  astonishment  and 
superstition. 

"  It  is  the  Good  Spirit  of  the  ^Mountain!-'  at  length 
exclaimed  the  chief  arising  from  his  posture  of 
adoration.  "  It  is  he,  to  whom  the  holy  prophet  many 
moons  ago,  bade  me  resign  my  authority,  my  daugh- 
ter and  my^ religion,  if  1  would  preserve  them  alll" 

And  as  he  ceased  speaking,  he  placed  his  bow  and 
quiver,  spear  and  coronet  of  feathers  at  the  feet  of  the 
young  Englishman.  Then  taking  the  hand  of  his 
daughter,  he  placed  it  in  that  of  the  youth,  and  com- 
manding his  warriors  to  yield  them  obedience  and  al- 
legiance, he,  slowly,  and  with  his  hands  clasped  over 
his  b#east,  retired  through  the  crowd,  who  silently  and 
with  reverence  gazed  wonderingly  after  his  retreating 
form.  Secluding  himself  on  the  holy  mountain,  he 
there  passed  a  life  of  devotion,  having,  after  the  abdi- 
cation of  his  power,  been  converted  to  the  Christian 
faith,  by  his  daughter,  who  became  a  convert  to  the 
religion  of  her  husband. 


The  aboriginal  tribes  of  New-England,  with  but 
one  exception  are  now  nearly  extinct.  The  warlike 
and  ambitious  Kennebecs  have  melted  away  like  snow. 
The  Penobscots  still  exist,  inhabitants  and  possesors 
of  the  river-island,  originally  and  still  the  seat  of  their 
national  councils,  and  the  abode  of  their  chief.  Their 
existence  and  independence  are  acknowledged  by  the 
state  which  includes  their  territory,  and  the  delegates 
have  represented  them  in  her  legislative  conventions. 


128  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

They  are  devout  Catholics,  and  in  a  neat  chapel 
erected  upon  their  island,  worship  the  God  of  the 
Christians. 

They  are  governed  by  a  young  Chieftainess,  whose 
personal  charms  bear  testimony  to  those  of  Lina,  her 
lovely  ancestress,  the  bride  of  the  exiled  Charles,  and 
which  if  tradition  says  truly,  are  transmitted  to  her  de- 
scendant. 

The  graves  of  the  two  lovers,  who  died — in  the 
spirit  of  that  love  which  will  bear  no  separation — 
within  a  few  hours  of  one  another,  are  still  pointed 
out  by  the  aged  warriors  of  the  tribe,  in  a  grove  of 
dark  pines,  on  the  site  of  the  sacred  fane  of  their  an- 
cestors, and  near  the  entrance  to  the  cave  where  dwelt 
the  venerable  Prophet  of  the  Holy  Mountain. 


THE    SNOW    PILE. 


THE  SNOW  PILE 


Young  Spring,  with  her  opening  buds,  her  spring- 
ing grass,  her  soft  south  wind,  and  singing  birds,  was 
fast  subduing  stern  old  Winter.  His  icy  bosom,  all 
unused  to  the  melting  mood,  dissolved  beneath  her 
warm  glances  and  showers  of  April  tears.  I  had  been 
confined  to  my  chamber  through  the  long  winter  by 
a  tedious  illness;  but  when  the  sun  with  summery 
warmth,  shone  through  my  window,  I  grew  rapidly 
better.  How  grateful  to  the  convalescent  is  the  mild 
hue  of  the  spring  sky,  the  tender  green  of  the  grass 
and  young  leaves,  and  the  smiling  face  of  nature 
awaking  from  its  wintry  sleep! 

When  my  chair  was  first  drawn  to  the  window,  and 
I  looked  up  and  down  the  streets  thronged  with  pas- 
sengers and  gav  equipages,  I  felt  as  if  I  had  come  into 
a  new  world.  '  How  happy  every  thing  and  eveiy 
body  looked!  All  seemed  gladness,  and  my  own  heart 
thrilled  with  a  new  and  strange  dehght. 

I  am,  or  rather  was  at  the  period  to  which  I  allude, 
a  bachelor,  on  the  verge  of  thirty-five.  My  abode  was 
in  the  heart  of  the  city,  at  a  corner  where  four  streets 
met.  Opposite  my  window  was  a  row  of  stately  elms 
and  young  locusts,  the  brown  of  their  myriad  buds 


132  THE  AMERICAN  LOUXGER. 

just  tipped  with  green,  so  that  the  branches  of  the 
trees  looked  as  if  studded  with  emeralds.  Along  the 
outer  edge  of  the  opposite  side  walk,  Spring  had  just 
commenced  working  a  border  of  new  grass;  ladies  had 
laid  aside,  or  rather  chrysalis-like,  come  out  of  their 
unsightly  cloaks,  and  tripped  along  the  pave  in  light 
dresses  and  sylphide  forms.  How  odd  to  see  slender 
waists  in  the  streets  after  they  have  been  so  long  con- 
cealed! It  seems,  when  we  first  view  the  fair  crea- 
tures, as  if  there  was  something  improper  in  their  ap- 
pearing out  in  such  undress,  as  if  some  modest  article 
of  apparel  was  forgotten;  and  it  is  some  days  before 
one  is  quite  reconciled  to  the  propriety  of  the  thing. 

Notwithstanding  these  signs  of  Spring  that  every 
where  met  my  eyes  as  I  gazed  out  of  my  window, 
there  was  one  object  amid  all  the  sunny  cheerfulness 
that  chilled  my  heart,  and  cast  a  wintry  veil  over  all. 
This  was  a  huge  bank  of  snow  lying  against  the  curb- 
stone directly  beneath  my  window.  The  winter  had 
been  severe,  and  in  the  middle  of  April,  there  was  a 
heavy  fall  of  snow.  My  man  John,  in  shovelhng  it 
from  the  walk,  had  formed  a  pile  four  feet  in  depth 
before  the  door;  and  after  the  snow  had  disappeared 
from  the  streets,  from  the  fields,  and  from  the  distant 
hills,  and  the  trees  had  put  forth  their  leaves,  that  pile 
obstinately  resisted  the  warmth  of  the  sun  and  the  soft- 
ening influences  of  the  rain.  From  my  bed,  I  had  seen 
through  the  upper  lights  of  my  window  the  mild  deep 
blue  of  the  sky,  and  felt  the  cheering  presence  of  the 
April  sun  as  it  shone  in  a  bright  glowing  beam  through 
the  half-opened  shutter,  and  lay  like  a  golden  belt 
along  the  carpet.  How  different  the  sunlight  of  sum- 
mer and  winter  even  to  the  eye  I  How  readily  does 
the  invalid  recognise  and  welcome  the  first  smile  of 
Spring  in  the  warm  glow  of  the  returning  sun!  I 
should  not  have  known  whiter  had  departed,  if  I  had 
not  seen  the  green  tops  of  the  budding  trees,  and  had 
not  been  told  that  Spring  had  come— Spring,  that 


rffi 


THE  SNOW  PILE.  133 

haven  of  hope  for  the  suffering  valetudinarian!  They 
had  told  me,  too,  that  the  snow  was  gone  from  the 
earth. 

I  was  wheeled  up  to  the  wmdow,  and  the  bound  of 
the  heart  with  which  I  looked  forth  on  the  gay  and 
moving  scene,  was  suddenly  stopped  as  my  eyes 
rested  on  that  bank  of  snow.  I  sighed,  and  threw  my- 
self backwards  in  my  chair  in  the  bitterness  of  disap- 
pointment. In  that  heap,  to  my  excited  imagination 
lay  buried  the  body  of  the  dead  Winter!  Although  I 
soon  became  in  some  degree  accustomed  to  it,  I  ner- 
vously watched  its  gradual  disappearance.  I  marked 
the  scarcely  perceptible  melting  away  of  its  edges,  the 
slow  diminution  of  its  height.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
it  would  never  dissolve.  I  at  length  became  so  inte- 
rested in  its  disappearance,  that  I  sat  for  hours  toge- 
ther with  my  eyes  intensely  fixed  upon  it,  and  forget- 
ful of  every  thing  else.  It  lay  like  an  incubus  on  my 
thoughts.  It  was  a  walking  nightmare  to  my  mind's 
repose.  If  a  passing  wheel  bore  a  portion  of  it  away 
clinging  to  its  spokes,  I  involuntarily  clapped  my 
hands.  If  a  vagrant  school-boy  abstracted  a  handful 
to  make  up  into  a  snow-ball,  I  blessed  him  in  my 
heart.  If  a  cloud  passed  over  the  sun,  I  impatiently 
watched  its  slow  passage  across  its  disk,  and  with  jea- 
lous impatience  noted  every  shadow  that  obstructed, 
for  a  moment  his  melting  beams.  Three  day^s  passed 
in  this  manner,  and  the  snow  pile  had  diminished  but 
one  third.  Its  shape,  I  remember,  was  an  irregular 
oval  about  nine  feet  in  length,  five  in  breadth,  and 
two  deep  in  the  centre,  the  depth  gradually  lessening 
to  the  edges,  which  were  thin  and  icy. 

The  fourth  morning  came,  and  the  buds  of  the  locust 
trees  had  burst  into  leaves;  a  robin  had  begun  his  nest 
on  the  branch  of  an  elm,  and  the  almanac  told  me  it 
was  the  first  day  of  May.  Yet  there  lay  Winter  in  the 
lap  of  Spring.  I  formed  an  instant  resolution.  The 
12 


134  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

tassel  of  the  bell-rope  was  within  my  reach,  I  leaned 
forward  and  pulled  it  with  an  emphasis. 

John  entered  in  haste,  with  alarm  depicted  on  his 
rubicund  visage. 

"John!'' 

"Sir." 

"  Take  a  shovel  and  remove  that  eternal  snow  bank 
from  the  street." 

"  Bank?" 

"Yes,  bank.  Snowbank!  A  more  hideous  mon- 
ster than  the  great  Hydra-Bank  to  my  eyes.  Remove 
it,  I  say." 

"  Yes,  Sir." 

John  departed,  and  I  gazed  from  the  window  on 
the  pile  of  snow  with  a  sort  of  savage  triumph  and 
relief  of  mind  I  had  not  experienced  for  some  days. 
While  I  was  anticipating  its  demolition  by  the  muscu- 
lar arm  of  my  man  John,  two  school-boys,  of  unequal 
size  and  years,  came  in  sight.  As  they  got  beneath 
my  window,  the  stouter  began  to  bully  the  smaller 
boy.  I  am  naturally  humane;  a  lover  of  justice  and 
hater  of  tyranny.  My  feeUngs  forthwith  became  en- 
listed for  the  weaker  lad,  who  showed  proper  spirit; 
and  so  long  as  tongues  continued  to  be  the  only  wea- 
pons, he  rather  had  the  better  of  his  adversary.  At 
length  the  big  boy  stung  by  a  biting  sarcasm,  gave 
him  a  rude  push,  and  sent  him  spinning  across  the 
trottoir  into  the  snow.  It  broke  his  fall  which  else 
would  have  been  violent,  and  I  blessed  the  snow  pile 
for  his  sake.  But  so  far  as  my  sympathies  with  the  little 
fellow  were  concerned,  I  soon  had  additional  cause  to 
bless  it. 

No  sooner  did  the  brave  little  lad  touch  the  snow 
than  he  grasped  both  hands  full,  and  hastily  and  skil- 
fully patted  it  into  a  hard  round  ball  the  size  of  a  three 
pounder;  then  taking  sure  aim  at  his  lubberly  torment- 
or, who  stood  haw-hawing  at  his  victory,  he  threw, 


THE  SNOW  PILE.  135 

and  hit  him  fairly  in  the  left  eye.  His  tune  was  now 
changed  to  a  yell  of  pain,  and  clapping  both  of  his 
huge  dirty  paws  to  his  extinguished  orb,  he  went  off 
limping  as  if  the  hurt  had  been  in  his  heel  instead  of 
his  head.  The  victorious  little  fellow  compressed  his 
lips  with  a  decided  air,  gave  an  emphatic  nod,  and 
glanced  at  my  window  with  a  sort  of  apologetic  look 
that  meant  "  he  deserves  it,  sir,  if  it  does  put  his  eye 
out!"  "  So  he  does,  my  brave  lad,"  said  I,  in  a  look 
that  he  understood  to  mean  as  much;  "  that  snow  pile 
has  done  thee  good  service."  At  this  moment  John, 
who  is  somewhat  deliberate  in  his  movements,  made 
his  appearance  from  the  basement  front,  shovel  in  hand 
and  devastation  in  his  eye.  I  rapped  at  the  window 
as  he  prepared  to  attack  the  bank,  and  for  that  gal- 
lant boy's  sake,  the  snow  pile  remained  inviolate  for 
that  day. 

With  the  ensuing  morning  I  had  well  nigh  forgotten 
the  incident  of  the  snow-ball,  and  the  summary  pun- 
ishment of  tyranny  that  I  had  witnessed,  and  which 
had  afforded  me  so  much  gratification.  The  first  thing 
that  met  my  eyes  after  I  took  my  usual  place  at  the 
window,  was  the  snow-bank,  giving  the  lie-direct  to 
gentle  Spring,  who  each  day  laid  the  flecks  of  green 
thicker  and  darker  on  the  tree-tops,  and  I  resolutely 
determined  to  demoHsh  without  delay  that  last  vestige 
of  winter,  and  banish  a  sight  so  full  of  December  asso- 
ciations. 

With  hasty  zeal  I  laid  a  hand  on  each  arm  of  my 
easy-chair,  and  half  rose  to  reach  the  bell  rope,  when 
I  saw  a  very  pretty  boarding-school  girl,  in  cottage 
bonnet  and  pantalets,  and  neat  white  apron,  with  the 
roses  of  fifteen  summers  in  her  cheeks,  in  crossing  trie 
street,  driven  by  a  rude  equestrian  from  the  flags  into 
the  mud.  My  ire  was  roused,  (for  my  feelings  are 
readily  enlisted  for  the  gentler  sex,)  and  I  forgot  the 
bell  to  turn,  and  anathemise  the  careless  horseman. 
Although  in  two  or  three  light  steps  she  safely  gained 


136  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

the  side-walk,  I  saw  that  she  had  grievously  mudded 
one  of  her  nicely-fitting  Cinderillas.  She  stopped  on  the 
curb-stone,  looked  down  at  her  soiled  slipper,  shook 
her  head,  and  seemed  to  be  very  much  distressed.  She 
was  neatly  and  tidily  dressed  after  that  simple  and  be- 
coming manner  peculiar  to  school-girls.  It  was  Satur- 
day, and  she  was  doubtless  going  a  visiting;  and  to  be 
made  such  a  figure  of  by  a  lubberly  tyro  in  horse- 
manship, was  not  a  little  annoying.  I  sympathised 
with  her  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  She  was  very 
young,  very  pretty,  and  in  very  great  trouble.  I  could 
have  taken  my  cambric  handkerchief,  and,  on  bend- 
ed knee,  with  it  removed  the  offensive  soil.  She 
surveyed  her  little  foot  all  about.  The  mud  came 
within  a  quarter  of  an  inch  of  the  top  of  her  shoe,  and 
she  was  (as  by  her  perplexed  looks  she  evidently  her- 
self thought)  in  too  sad  a  plight  to  walk  the  street.  She 
essayed  to  scrape  off  the  tenacious  earth  on  the  outer 
angle  of  the  curb-stone,  but  this  operation  only  left  it 
in  frightful  streaks. 

"  Dear  me !  What  shall  I  do?'^  I  could  almost  hear 
her  say  to  herself;  and  then  with  a  very  prolonged 
and  mortified  air,  she  looked  up  the  street  and  down 
the  street;  glanced  over  at  the  opposite  windows,  and 
those  above  her  head,  and  at  last  caught  my  eye.  I 
had  been  waiting  for  this,  and  eagerly  pointed  to  the 
snow-pile. 

She  glanced  up  her  dark  eyes  full  of  thanks;  and  in 
two  minutes,  with  the  aid  of  a  lump  of  snow,  and  by 
rubbing  her  foot  on  the  pile,  now  on  this  side,  and 
now  on  that,  she  cleaned  her  snug  little  slipper  till  it 
outshone  its  unsoiled  fellow.  Then  looking  me  a 
heart  full  of  gratitude,  she  tripped  on  her  way  rejoic- 
ing. For  her  sake  the  snow-pile  remained  inviolate 
another  day. 

Forgetfulness  of  the  yesterday's  courtesy  came  with 
the  next  morning,  and  there  remained,  as  I  gazed  from 
the  window,  only  the  consciousness  of  my  annoyance. 


THE  SNOW  PILE.  137 

The  voice  of  Spring  came  to  my  ears  in  every  sound, 
and  the  winds  murmured  by  laden  with  the  odors  of 
May  flowers.  But  the  snow-pile  fixed  my  eyes  like 
a  spell.  There  is  a  kind  of  fascination  in  hideous  ob- 
jects, which,  while  the  heart  revolts,  irresistibly  draws 
the  eye.  In  vain  I  resolutely  turned  my  eyes  away 
from  it,  and  strove  to  forget  it  in  the  contemplation  of 
the  fleecy  cloud,  which  Winter  has  not;  of  the  sum- 
mer blue  of  the  sky;  of  the  umbrageous  foliage;  the 
bright  streets,  and  their  lively  pageants;  but  scarcely 
were  they  averted,  before  they  flew  back  again  as  if 
moved  by  a  watch-spring. 

"That  eternal  snow  bank!"  I  exclaimed,  as  my 
eyes,  for  the  fiftieth  time  averted,  again  rested  on  it; 
"  will  it  never  melt?" 

I  reached  the  bell  rope,  and  rung  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  without  ceasing.  I  had  just  regained  my  chair, 
when  John  came  into  the  room  as  if  he  had  been  eject- 
ed from  a  catapult. 

"  Good  Lord,  sir!  I  am  here,  sir." 

"That  pile  of  snow,  John!" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  I  shall  have  no  peace  till  it  is  scattered  to  the  four 
winds." 

"  The  shovel  is  below,  sir,  shall  I " 

"  Do,  John,  do.  Spread  it  on  the  street.  If  the  sun 
won't  melt  it,  then  carry  it  in  baskets  to  the  kitchen, 
and  boil  it.  It  might  as  well  be  winter  all  the  time 
for  what  I  see,"  grumbled  I,  as  John  departed. 

I  had  hardly  issued,  for  the  third  time,  this  mandate, 
and  turned  to  the  window  to  take  a  farewell  look  at 
the  glistening  object  of  my  annoyance,  when  half  a 
dozen  seamen,  on  a  shore  cruise,  came  sailing  along 
with  that  independent  and  inimitable  swagger  charac- 
teristic of  the  genuine  tar.  In  their  wake  followed  a 
little  foreign  saUor  boy,  whom,  by  his  olive  skin,  black, 
glossy  hair,  ghttering  eyes,  and  slight,  flexile  figure,  I 
knew  to  be  a  West  Indian.  His  restless  gaze  rested 
12' 


138  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

on  the  snow,  and  he  uttered  a  loud  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise and  delight. 

"Halloo,  manikin!  what's  in  sight  astern  there?" 
sung  out  an  old  tar  just  ahead  of  him,  hitching  up  his 
trousers,  and  coming  to  an  anchor  in  the  middle  of  the 
side  walk. 

"  Soogare!  soogarer^  shouted  the  little  imp,  point- 
ing to  the  pile  of  snow,  and  dancing  up  and  down  as 
if  the  sunny  pavement  had  become  red-hot  to  his  naked 
feet. 

"  Sugar,  be "  said  the  old  sailor,  with  a  look 

and  tone  of  supreme  contempt;  "try  it  and  see!" 

The  boy  bounded  toward  the  delusive  pile,  grasped 
both  hands  full  of  the  deceitful  substance,  and  was  in 
the  act  of  conveying  one  portion  of  his  treasure  to  his 
jacket  pocket  and  to  cram  his  mouth  with  the  other, 
when  a  shrill  cry  of  pain  escaped  him;  and,  dropping 
the  snow,  he  capered  about,  snapping  his  fingers,  and 
working  his  flexible  features  into  the  most  ludicrous 
grimaces. 

His  shipmates  hove  to  at  his  signal  of  distress,  and 
roared,  one  and  all,  with  lusty  laughter,  catching  off 
their  tarpaulins,  and  swinging  them  aloft,  and  slapping 
each  other  on  the  broad  of  the  back  in  the  excess  of 
their  merriment. 

"  Avast  there,  my  little  hop-o-my-thumb,"  said  one 
of  the  sailors,  as  their  mirth  gradually  subsided;  and 
steering  up  to  the  boy,  who  continued  to  yell  with  un- 
diminished vigor,  "  dontee  set  up  such  a  caterwauling 
in  a  calm." 

"Burnee!  burnee!" 

"  Burnee  my  eye!  Ho!  shipmates,  all  hands  to  put 
fire  out.  Little  Carlo's  scorched  his  fingers  with  a 
snow-ball." 

All  hands  now  gathered  round  the  young  West  In- 
dian, and  made  themselves  merry  at  his  expense,  with 
quip  and  joke,  cutting  the  while  many  a  boyish  prank. 

"  Come,  Jack,"  said  one,  making  up  a  large  lump 


THE  SXOW  PILE.  139 

of  snow  into  a  ball,  "  lets  take  aboard  a  two  pounder 
apiece,  and  pepper  some  o'  these  land  lubbers  that 
come  athwart  our  hawser." 

*' Aye,  aye!"  was  the  unanimous  response. 

Forthwith,  indifferent  to  the  gaping  passers-by,  each 
went  to  work  to  make  snow-balls,  and  soon,  with  two 
apiece  stowed  away  in  either  jacket  pocket,  they  got 
the  httle  West  Indian  in  their  midst,  and  moved  otf,  a 
jolly  troop,  in  full  glee,  and  ripe  for  a  lark. 

John,  who  had  been  kept  in  the  back  ground  by  the 
belHgerent  preparations  of  these  sons  of  Neptune, 
having  ascertained  by  a  cautious  survey  through  the 
iron  railing  of  the  basement — his  head  protruded  just 
above  the  level  of  the  side-walk — that  they  were  quite 
hull-down,  now  made  his  appearance  beneath  the 
window,  shovel  in  hand.  Influenced  by  the  whim  of 
the  moment,  I  rapped  on  the  window,  and  made  a 
sign  for  him  to  come  in,  resolved,  for  the  amusement 
it  had  atlorded  me,  to  spare  the  snow-pile  another 
day. 

The  following  morning,  the  sight  of  the  scarce  di- 
minished snow-heap  rendered  me  obUvious  of  the  mer- 
riment I  had  received  from  the  little  West  Indian  the 
day  before,  and  mindful  only  of  the  present.  My  phi- 
lanthropy deserted  me,  and  with  a  round  oath  I  as- 
severated that  for  sailor  nor  saujt,  woman  nor  angel, 
would  I  let  that  snow  remain  another  moment  longer. 

Ho!  Ding  a  ling^  a  ling  ling!  Ho,  John,  John,  ho! 
Ding,  ling,  ling!  Ding,  ling,  ding!  Ho,  John,  John! 
Ding  ling,  ling  ding,  I "  and  the  bell-rope  part- 
ed at  the  ceiling,  and  came  down  in  my  hand.  My 
crutch  stood  beside  my  chair.  '•  Thump,  hump,  ump! 
Ump!  unipH     Thump!!! 

The  door  burst  open;  the  bolt  head  flew  across  the 
room,  and  half-buried  itself  in  the  opposite  wall,  and 
John  pitched  headlong  in,  and  landed  on  his  face 
in  the  centre  of  the  apartment.  "  C-c-c-comin',  sir!" 
was  ejected  from  his  mouth  as  his  head  struck  the 


140  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

floor;  "  C-c-c-comin',  sir!''  scarce  articulated  he  as  he 
rolled  over  and  over  towards  my  chair;  "  C-c-c-comin', 
sir,"  he  gasped  as  he  got  to  one  knee  and  pulled  at 
his  forelock,  as  he  was  wont  to  do  when  he  addressed 
me.  The  next  movement  brought  him  to  his  legs. 
"  Here  I  am,  sir.  Bless  the  mercies,  sir!  Avhat  is  the 
matter,  sir?" 

"John!" 

«  Yes,  sir." 

I  pointed  silently  to  the  snow-pile. 

John  vanished. 

I  looked  forth  from  the  window  (I  need  not  here 
apologise  to  those  who  have  been  invalids;  such  will 
readily  sympathise  with  the  interest  I  took  in  this  mat- 
ter,) and  enjoyed  in  anticipation  the  devastation  about 
to  be  made.  In  less  than  a  minute  John  made  his 
appearance  beneath  the  window,  laden  with  two  bas- 
kets, a  large  and  a  small  one,  a  bucket  and  coal-hod, 
and  lastly,  his  broad  wooden  shovel.  He  ranged  these 
various  receptacles  along  the  outer  verge  of  the  side- 
walk; moistened  the  palms  of  his  hands  after  a  sum- 
mary mode,  well  known  to  the  school-boy,  when  about 
to  handle  his  bat-stick;  seized  hold  of,  and  struck  his 
instrument  deep  into  the  snow;  placed  his  right  foot 
firmly  on  one  of  the  projecting  sides  thereof,  and  bent 
his  shoulders  to  raise  the  gelid  load. 

I  watched  each  motion  with  eager  gratification.  I 
noted  the  muscular  shoulders  of  John  as  he  essayed 
his  task,  with  emotions  of  delight.  I  marked  the 
opening  chasms  in  the  pile  as  he  stirred  the  bulk,  and 
felt  a  thrill  of  joy  as  I  beheld  a  huge  mass  yield  before 
his  well-applied  sinews.  He  stooped  to  lift  the  sever- 
ed fragment  to  place  it  in  one  of  his  baskets,  when 
there  arose  a  sudden  shouting,  followed  by  the  quick 
rattling  of  wheels,  and  cries  of  warning  and  alarm. 
I  had  scarcely  drawn  a  breath,  when  two  blooded 
horses,  wild  with  terror,  harnessed  to  a  landau,  con- 
taining, I  could  see,  a  young  and  beautiful  lady,  and 


THE  SXOW  PILE.  141 

an  elderly  gentleman,  came  dashing  furiously  up  the 
street.  The  fore  wheel  struck  and  locked  with  the 
wheel  of  a  doctor's  chaise  standing  before  the  third 
door  from  mine:  and  the  landau  dragging  the  chaise 
with  it,  was  drawn  a  few  yards  further  on  two  side 
wheels,  then  upset  and  pitched  its  contents  out  upon 
the  pile  of  snow  beneath  my  window. 

The  gentleman  was  thrown  upon  his  shoulder,  and 
lay  senseless.  The  lady's  fall  was  arrested  by  John, 
who  caught  her  ere  she  reached  the  ground;  but  she 
had  fainted,  and  her  fair  brow  was  like  marble  as  I 
looked  down  upon  it.  I  broke  two  panes  of  glass 
knocking  with  my  crutch,  and  shouted  through  the 
opening  to  have  them  both  conveyed  into  my  front 
parlor.  John,  assisted  by  a  gentleman,  carried  the 
lady  in,  while  two  or  three  others  took  up  the  old  gen- 
tleman. 

I  had  not  left  my  room  for  three  months,  and  the 
rheumatism  had  made  me  a  cripple.  I  seized  my 
crutch  snatched  a  cane,  and  was  down  stairs  and  in 
the  parlor  just  as  the  lady  was  bemg  laid  on  the  sofa. 
She  was  still  senseless.  How  beautiful  her  alabaster 
features!  the  veined  lid!  the  polished  and  rounded 
neck!  Her  hat  was  removed.  Her  abundant  hair 
fell  in  waves  of  gold  about  her  shoulders.  I  gazed, 
entranced  with  the  bright  vision.  A  rude  hand  dash- 
ed a  glass  of  water  in  her  face.  It  roused  me,  and  I 
lent  my  aid  to  effect  her  restoration.  After  repeated 
ablutions — animation  continuing  suspended — the  Doc- 
tor, who  was  out  lamenting  over  the  fragments  of  his 
gig,  was  called  in.  But  no  blood  followed  the  inser- 
tion of  his  lancet  in  the  exquisitely  veined  arm.  The 
old  gentleman,  in  the  meanwhile,  (thanks  to  the  snow- 
pile  for  saving  his  collar  bone.)  had  recovered  his 
senses,  and  was  bending  sorrowfully  over  his  daugh- 
ter. A  happy  thought  struck  me.  I  had  heard  in  my 
boyhood,  among  the  snow-covered  hills  of  Maine,  that 
snow  was  an  unfailing  restorative  in  cases  like  the 


142  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

present.  I  despatched  John  from  the  room,  and  he 
instantly  returned  with  a  cubic  foot  of  snow  in  his 
arms.  I  assiduously  laid  a  large  piece  on  her  fore- 
head; a  fragment,  the  size  of  an  almond,  on  each  eye- 
lid; placed  a  piece  on  the  back  of  the  neck,  and  hint- 
ed to  the  father  to  lay  one  on  her  swan-like  throat, 
and,  taking  her  two  hands,  I  placed  a  lump  between 
them,  and  clasped  them  in  mine,  till  it  melted  and 
trickled  in  drops  upon  the  carpet.  What  a  delicious 
moment  of  my  existence  was  that ! 

In  a  few  seconds  she  began  to  revive,  and  in  half 
an  hour  afterwards  thanked  me  with  her  own  lips  and 
eyes  for  saving  her  life  as  she  chose  to  believe.  The 
father  thanked  me  also,  I  made  a  very  pretty  disclama- 
tory  speech  in  return,  and  begged  they  would  say  no 
more  about  it. 

I  had  them  to  dine  with  me  that  day.  I  went  to 
bed  without  any  rheumatism.  In  the  morning  I  bade 
John  to  keep  watch,  and  see  that  no  one  removed  a 
flake  from  that  sacred  snow-pile — he  having  previ- 
ously, by  my  order,  filled  my  ornamental  cologne  bot- 
tle with  a  portion  of  it,  and  placed  it  on  my  toilet. 

The  time  of  this  sketch  is  six  years  ago.  I  was 
then  a  bachelor.  I  am  now  married.  That  lovely 
young  matron  sitting  sewing  opposite  me,  while  I  am 
writing,  in  whose  person  simplicity  and  elegance  are 
charmingly  united,  is  my  wife.  That  old  gentleman, 
sitting  by  the  fire  reading  a  newspaper,  is  her  father. 
There  is  a  slight  scar  on  his  left  brow,  which  he  re- 
ceived when  he  was  thrown  from  his  carriage  before 
my  door.  If  a  blot  could  be  printed,  you  would  just 
here  find  a  sad  one,  made  by  a  chubby  little  blue 
eyed  girl  of  two  years,  in  her  exertions  to  climb  on 
my  knee  after  her  black-eyed  brother  Bob — who  has 
playfully  stolen  her  doll,  and  is  climbing  up  my  back 
to  get  it  out  of  her  way. 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CANES 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CANES 


Leovardi.    Wilt  go  up  Vesuvius,  my  lord  duke? 

Duke  of  F.    What's  ho,  Leonardi?  {starting  from  his  couch.] 

Leonardi.    The  countess  Cervi  with  her  Florentines — 
The  noble  ladies  that  came  up  from  Rome, 
And  the  gentlemen  that  do  attend  them. 
Are  all  afoot  with  expectation; 
And  Greitz,  the  trav'ler,  as  I  hither  catne. 
Bade  me,  with  its  suppressed  impatience,  say 
They  wail  for  theo. 

Duke  of  F.    Got  thee  eone,  I^eonardi!    T  must  sleep. 

Leonardi.    The  sun  hath  climb'd  the  mountain's  side,  and  now 
Rides  high  above  the  headmost  pinnacles. 

Duke  of  F.    Let  him  get  down  and  walk,  an  he  w  ill,  so 
He  let  me  lie  and  sleep. 

Leonardi.    Compass  not  Vesuvius,  noble  sir— 
A  feat  that  trav'lers  most  do  covet. 
And  achieving,  boast  of  through  a  life  after — 
And  men  will  cry  out  "  shame,"  when  we  return 
To  Florence. 

Duke  of  F.    Leonardi! 

Leonardi.    My  lord  Duke. 

Duke  of  F,     My  staff. 

Leonardi.    'Tis  here,  my  Lord. 

Duke  of  F.    I  cut  it  from  Leb'non  in  Ih'  Holy  Land- 
He  who  hath  gone  up  Lebanon  need  not 
To  climb  Vesuvius— Take  it!  'T  has  been 
Mycomrade,  friend,  and  fellow  traveller 
Full  thirty  years.    My  long,  close  grasp 

13 


146  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

Has  warm 'd  life  into't,  till  it  has  ta'en 
My  nature,  and  of  myself  become  a  part— 
A  new  limb,  a  leg,  an  arm  additional 
With  fellow-feeling  animate  throughout. 
Bear  it  to  the  mountain's  topmost  peak! 
When  thou  com'st  down  bring't  to  me  again 
And  I  shall  have  gone  up  Vesuvius. 


Canes  timidi  vehentissime  latrant. 


Fragment  Unwrittek  MS. 


Lat:  Dis:  Sic: 


Canes  make  the  timid  dogs  to  bark  vehemently. 

Translation. 


The  origin  of  canes  is  of  very  remote  antiquity. 
The  earliest  mention  of  them  is  in  the  thirty-eighth 
chapter  of  Genesis,  where  it  is  recorded  that  Jiidah 
gave  his  "  Stajgi',  signet,  and  bracelets,"  in  pledge  for 
the  payment  of  a  kid  he  had  promised  to  Tamar,  his 
daughter-in-law.  Certain  antiquaries  there  are,  how- 
ever, that  contend  it  has  a  still  earlier  origin.  Such 
assert  on  the  doubtful  authority  of  some  unauthenti- 
cated  Jewish  pandects,  that  Cain  slew  his  brother  with 
his  staff,  which,  for  protection  against  wild  beasts,  was 
doubtless,  say  they,  a  much  heavier  and  more  warlike 
weapon  than  the  modern  walking  stick,  and  therefore 
easily  convertible  into  an  instrument  of  death.  This 
assertion  is  without  a  shadow  of  proof,  and  they  who 
have  advanced  it  omit  the  very  first  step  to  the  sub- 
stantiality of  their  theory,  by  neglecting  to  prove  in 
the  premises  that  Cain  carried  a  staff  at  all.  If,  in  re- 
ply, they  refer  us,  as  their  authority,  to  the  picture 
books,  where  he  is  always  represented  with  a  club  or 
staff,  we  have  only  to  say  that  the  picture-makers 
ought  to  know;  but  until  they  can  satisfy  us  by  point- 
ing to  creditable  authorities,  we  shall  remain  in  our 
present  opinion.  On  the  authority  of  a  well  known 
passage  in  Home  Tooke,  wherein  he  has  satisfactorily 
as  well  as  ingeniously  proven  the  English  tongue  to 
have  been  antecedent  to  all  other  languages,  and  the 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CANES  147 

identical  speech  spoken  by  Adam  and  Eve  in  Eden, 
these  unreasonable  antiquarians  asseverate  that  the 
name  "  Cain"  was  given  to  the  fratricide  from  the  fact 
of  his  having  caned  Abel  to  death;  and  they  reconcile 
the  variation  in  the  orthography  of  the  word  on  the 
plea  that  at  that  rude  age  of  the  world  there  existed 
neither  district-schools  nor  dictionaries,  whereby  the 
just  method  of  spelling  words  might  be  learned  and 
preserved. 

Without  entering  into  the  discussion  of  the  mooted 
question  whether  Cain  be  derived  from  "cane"  or 
cane  from  "  Cain,"  we  will  only  say,  in  reference  to  it 
that  in  our  opinion,  in  which  we  are  sustained  by 
many  Gemian,  Jewish,  and  Arabian  antiquaries,  nei- 
ther is  correct.  The  learned  Belibus,  Dioces,  the  Ara- 
bian scholar,  Hosea  Meles  the  erudite  Jew,  besides 
Fra.  Quirinus  the  Latin  scribe,  are  of  opinion,  with 
which  our  own  accords,  that  cane  is  plainly  an  angli- 
cism  of  the  Latin  word  canis,  a  dog;  that  this  is  the 
true  and  original  derivation  of  the  word  we  shall  pro- 
ceed to  show. 

It  is  well  known  to  classical  readers,  that  from  the 
time  of  Romulus  and  Remus,  dogs  in  great  numbers 
have  infested  the  streets  of  Roman  or  Italian  cities: 
vide,'m  attestation  of  this,  T.  Pomp.  Atticus;  the  epis- 
tles of  Democritas  the  Greek;  the  letters  of  Cadmus; 
and  AnnibaPs  commentaries  on  the  battle  of  Apulia, 
wherein  he  asserts,  that  from  the  adjacent  village  of 
Cannae,  so  called  from  the  multitude  of  its  dogs  (canes) 
there  did  issue  after  the  battle  from  the  gafes  of  the 
town,  thirty  thousand  of  these  animals,  which,  being 
attracted  hither  by  the  dead,  did  cover  with  their  vast 
numbers  all  the  plain,  and  appal  the  very  gods  with 
their  howls. 

This  being  the  condition  of  things  in  an  obscure 
Roman  town,  how  great  must  have  been  the  multi- 
tudes of  these  brutes  in  Rome  itself!  That  their  num- 
ber was  so  large  as  to  defy  census,  and  remain  alto- 


148  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

gether  unknown,  may  be  gathered  from  Caesar  in  his 
letter  to  TulUus  Brutus,  informing  him  of  the  death  of 
his  sister  Appicia  by  hydrophobia,  and  also,  by  infe- 
rence, from  the  third  oration  of  Cicero  against  Cata- 
line:  further,  Junius  Brutus  is  recorded  by  C.  Laelius 
to  have  been  pursued  on  horseback  by  a  pack  of  hun- 
gry dogs  from  the  quarter  of  the  Jews  to  Mons  Pala- 
tine, and  barely  escaped  with  life  by  seeking  shelter  in 
the  temple  of  the  Muses.  Such  being  the  danger  in 
the  streets  of  Rome,  it  became  customary  for  pedes- 
trians to  go  provided  with  stout  birchen  cudgels,  arm- 
ed at  one  extremity  with  a  short,  sharp  pikey  for  the 
purpose  of  defending  themselves  against  these  demi- 
savage  animals.*  This  cudgel,  by  a  natural  substitu- 
tion of  cause  for  effect,  was  called  cani,  the  dative  sin- 
gular for  canis,  which  means  literally,  ''for  a  dog,^^ 
a  more  significant  and  befitting  term  than  which  could 
not  have  been  chosen.  The  plural  of  canis  is  canes, 
and  this  is  the  precise  appellation  by  which  they  are 
now  known.  We  hold  this  to  be  the  only  and  true 
origin  both  of  the  cane  and  its  name  the  "  staff,"  of  the 
Old  Testament,  which  certain  visionary  antiquaries 
would  make  us  beheve  the  primitive  cane,  with  their 
jargon  about  Cain  and  Abel,  being  unworthy  of  no- 
tice; inasmuch  as  it  is  plain  to  every  one  at  all  con- 
versant with  the  subject,  that  it  was  neither  more  nor 
less  than  a  shepherd's  crook,  or,  at  the  best,  a  knotted 
club  carried  across  the  shoulder. 

The  introduction  of  the  cani  into  Rome,  we  learn 
from  Neevius  Metellus,  was  in  the  year  67  B.C. 
Within  the  two  weeks  immediately  preceding  the  ides 
of  August  the  same  year,  we  arejtoldby  the  same  au- 
thor, no  less  than,  eighty  thousand  dogs  were  killed 
with  this  instrument  alone,  besides  nine  thousand  sup- 
posed to  have  been  torn  in  pieces  by  their  species  in 

*  That  triumph  of  modern  jurisprudence  the  "  Dog  Law,"  was  un- 
known to  ancient  Rome, 


AX  ESSAY  ON  CANES.  149 

fishtin?  over  the  carcasses  of  the  slam.  But  a  sweep- 
iiie  pestilence  succeeding  this  exposure  of  so  vast  a 
quantity  of  animal  matter  to  the  sun  of  the  dog  days, 
and  on  account  of  the  alarming  increase  of  murders 
among  the  common  people  with  this  weapon,  with 
which  all  the  men  went  armed  and  readily  used  in 
the  slightest  quarrel,  the  emperor  w^as  forced  to  pro- 
mulge  an  edict  prohibiting  any  one  beneath  the  patri- 
cian^rank  from  carrying  the  cani.*  This  imperial  edict 
at  once  made  it  a  privileged  thing,  and  forthwith  it 
was  taken  into  high  favor  by  the  aristocracy  of  Rome. 
Within  a  few  days  subsequently,  the  Tiber  was 
choked  with  drowned  puppies;  and  theatres,  baths, 
and  forum  were  thronged  with  young  nobles,  each 
ostentatiously  armed  with  the  privileged  cani. 

In  the  hands  of  the  patricians  it  for  a  while  retained 
its  original  shape — a  round  statT,  three  feet  in  length, 
terminating  in  a  sharp  triedged  pike.  But  the  taste 
of  individuals  soon  made  important  innovations  on  the 
usual  form.  The  first  change  was  suggested  by  a 
wreath  of  flowers  that  Hortensia,the  beautiful  daugh- 
ter of  the  distinguished  orator  Hortensius,  entwined 
around  the  c««/ of  her  lover,  Julius  Curtiu^j,  the  hand- 
somest gallant  in  Rome,  for  protecting  her  with  it  from 
a  pack  of  ferocious  dogs  while  she  was  returning  along 
the  Appian  way  from  her  villa  to  the  city.  Julius 
made  his  appearance  in  the  baths  with  it  thus  adorned, 
and  the  following  day  the  enwreathed  cani  was 
adopted  by  all  the  exquisites  of  Rome.  In  a  few  days, 
natural  gave  way  to  artificial  flowers,  and  these  to 
wreaths  of  sprigs  of  diamonds  and  precious  stones;  so 
"  that,"  observes  M.  Cellius,  ^'  the  canes  of  the  patri- 
cians were  more  valuable  than  their  estates,  which 

*  In  lieu  of  the  cani,  Scipio  the  Blind  tells  us  how  it  was  promul- 
gated  by  Julius  Caesar,  that,  whosoever  could  prove  that  he  had  thrown 
into  the  Tiber  a  pup  eight  days  old,  should  receive  one  twentieth  of  a 
silver  sesterce. 

13* 


150  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

they  impoverished  to  adorn  them."  This  fashion 
of  the  wreathed  cani  contimied  until  L.  Octavius,  ne- 
phew of  the  emperor,  openly  appeared  in  the  foram 
with  a  cane  in  the  form  of  an  elegantly  twisted  ser- 
pent, enamelled  with  green  and  gold,  and  having  two 
large  diamonds  glittering  in  its  head  for  eyes.  This 
idea  was  doubtless  taken  from  the  "  Hortensian  gar- 
land'' as  the  wreath  was  termed,  which  in  a  few  days, 
with  its  straight  staff,  gave  place  to  rhe  Octavian  ser- 
pent. This,  in  its  turn  was  displaced  by  some  tasteful 
innovator,  who  came  out  with  a  straight,  highly  bur- 
nished ebony  stick  without  a  pike,  but  containing  in 
the  handle  a  short  dagger,  and  with  a  gold  head,  in 
which  was  exquisitely  set  the  miniature  of  his  mis- 
tress. The  novelty  of  the  idea  at  once  commended  it 
to  the  gallants  of  the  day,  and  it  was  universally  re- 
ceived into  favor.  This  was  succeeded  by  other  fash- 
ions, each  still  more  unique  and  elegant  than  its  pre- 
decessor; till,  observes  Cellius,  to  such  a  pitch  did  this 
canine*  madness  reach,  that  half  Rome  thought  and 
dreamt  of  nothing  besides  the  shape  and  fashion  of  the 
cani.  The  custom  extended  to  the  ladies,  who  car- 
ried with  them  on  all  occasions,  costly  and  elegant 
baubles  of  this  kind,  made  of  pearl,  ivory,  and  even 
gold  and  silver  rods,  with  which,  when  in  angry  mood, 
they  struck  their  slaves,  and  peradventure,  also,  their 
lovers. 

At  first,  the  cane  was  worn  beneatli  the  left  arm, 
the  ornamental  head  protruding  from  the  folds  of  the 
toga:  but  when  Julius  Curtius  made  his  appearance 
openly  with  his  garlanded  staff,  to  avoid  crushing  the 
flowers  he  ostentatiously  but  gracefully  displayed  it  in 
his  right  hand.  After  this,  canes  got  to  be  universally 
carried  in  this  manner. 

From  Rome,  the  cane  was  introduced  into  Britain 

*  One  of  the  few  Latin  puns  that  can  successfully  be  rendered  into 
the  English  tongue. 


,  A>'  ESSAY  ON  CANES.  151 

somewhere  about  the  time  of  the  division  of  the  em- 
pire, or  early  in  the  fifth  century:  and  until,  and  for 
several  years  after,  the  conquest,  it  retained  its  exclu- 
sive patrician  rank.  But  the  Roman  laws,  limiting  its 
use  to  the  nobles,  not  affecting  England,  it  got  at 
length  to  be  adopted  here  by  all  classes.  In  the  hands 
of  the  populace,  however,  it  went  through  many  modi- 
fications, till  finally  it  lost  its  original  form  and  charac- 
ter, and  became  fairly  fixed  in  the  plebeian  sliape  of 
the  '•  quarter-staff,"  the  boasted  weapon  of  English 
yeomanry,  and,  as  at  first  in  Rome,  was  carried  be- 
neath the  arm.  Cavaliers  who  had  laid  aside  the  cane 
when  it  came  into  popular  use,  seeing  that,  in  its  vari- 
ous modifications,  it  retained  in  the  hands  of  the  com- 
mon peo{)le  no  part  of  its  original  shape  or  purpose, 
chose  to  recosnise  no  resemblance  to  it  in  the  quarter- 
staff,  and  once  more  resumed  it  in  its  primitive  ele- 
gance. It  soon  became  an  indispensable  article 
of  luxury  and  ornament;  and  we  are  told  by  Philip 
Balfour  that  the  gallants  of  Henry  the  Third's 
court  vied  with  each  other  "  in  ye  fantastick 
shaipe,  beautie,  and  costlinesse  of  their  caines,  whilk 
dyd  haue  wouiide  about  ye  haundles  thereof  braides 
of  sylken  and  goolde  corde,  withe  twain  tassells  ap- 
pended thereunto."  From  a  tract  written  in  the  tliird 
year  of  the  reign  of  the  first  Edward  by  a  Franciscan 
monk,  we  learn,  that  besides  the  tassels,  which  are 
worn  similarly  about  modern  canes,  some  of  the  gay- 
er nobles  had  little  bells  attached  to  them.  •'  Where- 
fore,*' reads  the  tract,  •'•'ye  Kinge  his  excellente  royall 
majestic  dyd  pass  a  statute  forbyding  all  knyghtes 
under  ye  estate  of  a  lorde,  esquyer  or  gentylmanne, 
from  wearying  lytell  belles  of  golde  or  sylvere,  or 
other  metalls,  on  theyr  caynes,  under  ye  forfeyture  of 
fyftie  pence.*' 

According  to  a  manuscript  written  a  few  years 
later,  we  find  that  canes  were  constructed  with  lutes, 
shepherds'  pipes,  and  ••  an  instrument  of  manye  keyes, 


1 52  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER.        i 

cunnynglie  clevysed,on  whilk,  bye  breathyinge  there- 
on, these  gallantes  dyscoursed  ryghte  pleasaunte  mur 
syke  to  fayre  ladyes  underneath  their  balconie.'' 

The  original  intention  of  the  cane  no  longer  exist- 
ed; for,  in  London,  dogs  were  comparatively  few  in 
number,  and  these  less  ferocious,  and  better  provided 
with  food,  than  their  species  in  Itahan  cities:  the  pike, 
therefore,  fell  into  disuse,  and  its  place  was  supplied 
by  the  ferrule  in  its  present  form.  Besides  this,  there 
are  two  additional  reasons  for  their  abandonment, 
given  by  historians  of  the  period.  The  venerable 
Gregory,  in  his  Memoirs  of  the  Confessor  says,  some- 
what obscurely,  however,  that  in  "  Hys  dale  gentles 
dyd  carrye  a  pyke  fyve  ynches  yn  lengthe,  verie 
sharpe,  and  oftyn  foughte  ye  duello  therewyth  yn 
cyvick  broyls;  wherefore  dyd  Kynge  Edouard  ye 
Fyrste  comande  that  they  delyver  them  to  his  royall 
armourer,  who  dyd  breake  therefrom  three  ynches, 
leavynge  yt  pointlesse;  and  bye  statute  ye  Kynge  for- 
byde  such  to  ben  usen  more  wythinye  walles  of  Lon- 
donne.'^ 

Duncan  Grime,  who  is  nearly  cotemporary  with 
Gregory,  says,  that  by  an  edict  of  the  last  year  of 
Henry  III,  "  alle  knyghtes  and  noblesse,"  were  for- 
bidden to  Avear  any  "  stycke  statfe  or  caine,  or  anny 
kynde  of  wepon  save  their  goode  swoorde,  mace  of 
stele,  or  other  knyghtlie  armes,yn  as  moche  yt  ys  un- 
semelie  in  knyghtes  to  go  swyngeing  toe  and  froe  a 
tynklynge  baubell  yn  their  fyngeres." 

In  an  ancient  poem  still  extant,  written  by  a  certain 
John  Loufkin  entitled  ^'  Ye  Dedes  of  ye  Lord  Rych- 
ard  of  Potrelles,"  who  lived  in  the  reign  of  Edward 
III,  we  find  that  the  pike  was  not  only  restored  to  the 
cane,  but  this  lengthened  to  five  feet,  and  in  this  form 
resembling  a  light  spear,  was  frequently  used  in  tour- 
naments, and  sometimes  even  in  battle.  John  Louf- 
kin has  given  at  some  length  an  account  of  jousts  held 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CANES.  153 

near  Salisbury,  where  the  combatants  were  armed 
alone  with  the  "spere-caine." 

"  The  partyes  were  sender  set, 

Togyder  they  ranne  without  let 

Lorde  Rychard  gan  hym  dysgyse 

In  a  ful  strange  queyntyse. 

He  bare  a  schafte  that  was  grete  and  stronge, 

It  was  ful  five  footen  longe, 

And  it  was  both  grete  and  stout, 

Four  and  a  halfen  ynches  about. 

Of  oaken  wood  it  was,  and  cole  blackc, 

Of  sylver  bells  yt  had  no  lack. 

From  the  valaye  he  forlhe  strode, 

And  in  the  lists  ful  bravely  stode. 

The  Kynge  came  out  of  a  valaye, 

For  to  see  of  their  playe — 

A  goode  Knyghte  he  was  of  valour  and  main, 

And  well  dyght  in  ye  spere-caine. 

And  hymself  toke  a  caine  grete  and  stronge, 

That  was  hevy  and  longe. 

With  wilk,  yf  he  stroke  a  man's  gorgcre, 

Hym  repented  that  he  cam  there." 

After  telling  us  that  these  jousts  were  fought  on 
foot  and  without  mail,  and  that  the  "  atyre"  of  the 
combatants  was  "  orgulous,  and  altogedyr  cole  black," 
the  poem  says: 

The  trumpettes  began  for  to  blowe: 

Lord  Rychard  tlien  did  runne  for  to  mette, 

And  ful  egyrly  hys  foe  hym  grette. 

With  a  dente  on  the  forehede  delde 

He  bare  hym  down  in  the  felde. 

And  the  youth  fell  to  the  grounde, 

Ful  nigh  ded  in  that  stound. 

The  next  that  he  met  thare 

A  grete  stroke  he  hym  bare. 

Thrust  his  gorgelte  with  his  cane  thro'; 


1 54  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

Hys  necke  he  breake  there  atwo. 
The  kynge  behelde  this  from  hys  stede, 
And  was  grieved  for  that,  the  man  was  dede, 
And  swore  on  his  sworde  good  blood  again 
Shoulde  not  be  shede  wythe  a  spere  cane." 

On  account  of  the  fatal  termination  of  this  joust, 
King  Edward  confirmed  the  oath  he  had  made  in  the 
Usts,  and  passed  a  law  prohibiting  the  '*  spere  cane, 
mace  cane,  pyke  cane,  or  any  manner  of  cane  Avhat- 
soever;'^  declaring  it  henceforward  an  "  unknyghtlie 
appendance." 

In  the  subsequent  reign,  during  the  crusades,  the 
cane  was  revived  among  knights,  in  undress,  by  one 
John  Lord  Montacute,  who,  being  wounded  in  an  as- 
sault of  Jerusalem,  and  his  sword  being  broken  off, 
sustained  himself  back  to  his  tent  by  a  branch  pluck- 
ed from  a  tree  on  the  mount  of  olives ;  which  branch, 
on  account  of  its  sacredne^s,  his  pious  armorer  subse- 
quently adorned  with  "  fine  Steele,  golde,  and  precious 
stones  sette  aboute  ye  handle,^^  which  was  cut  in  the 
form  of  a  cross.  On  his  recovery,  the  knight  continu- 
ed to  retain  this  cane,  and  bear  it,  when  not  in  battle. 
From  what  can  be  learned  of  him,  at  this  period  he 
was  a  gay  and  youthful  cavalier,  of  great  personal  ac- 
complishments; and  forthwith,  his  example  was  follow- 
ed by  both  French  and  English  Knights,  who,  emulous 
to  combine  piety  with  fashion,  had  well  nigh  stripped 
the  groves  about  Jerusalem  of  every  branch,  ere  the 
commanders  of  the  Christian  hosts  interposed  to  save 
the  hallowed  trees.  The  knights,  on  their  return  to 
Europe, brought  with  them  their  sacred  staffs,  and  until 
the  close  of  the  crusades  the  cane  was  once  more  in 
vogue  in  all  the  European  cities. 

At  first,  it  was  confined  exclusively  to  such  as  had 
done  pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  Land,  and  made  only  of 
wood  that  grew  in  Palestine;  so  that,  like  the  scallop- 
shel],  it  was  recognised  as  an  authentic  badge  of  pil- 


AN  ESSAY   ON  CANES,  155 

grimage.     By  and  by,  however,  impostors  assumed 
the  badge,  and  substituted  ordinary  wood  from  unhal- 
lowed soil,  and  the  cane  lost  much  of  its  sacred  cha- 
racter: but  what  it  parted  with  in  sanctity,  it  gained 
in  elegance.     At  the  close  of  the  last  crusade,  it  was 
worn  by  all  of  gentle  birth;  and  for  many  years  run 
a  brilliant  career,  exhausting,  in  the  invention  of  its 
myriad  forms,  the  purses  and  tastes  of  its  votaries. 
At  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century  it  got  to  be 
worn  by  schoolboys  almost  exclusively,  and   finally 
became  a  portion  of  the  necessary  wardrobe  of  the  Lon- 
don chimney-sweep.    When  boys  began  to  wear  them, 
gentlemen  gradually  laid  them  aside  and  substituted 
the  small  sword.     This  was  originally  worn  suspend- 
ed from  a  belt  at  the  left  side;  but  it  soon  got  to  be  the 
fashion  to  carry  it  without  sash  or  belt  beneath  the 
arm:  a  few  years  later  it  was  used  sheathed,  exclu- 
sively as  a  walking-stick.     With  trifling  modifications 
it  continued  in  vogue  till  near  the  close  of  the  last 
century,  when  it  again  became  the  fashion  to  wear  it 
at  the  side:  the  neglected  cane,  in  the  meanwhile,  af- 
ter being  cast  ofl*  by  the  sweeps,  adopted  by  the  stu- 
dents of  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  and  by  them  resigned 
to   the   apprentices   of   London,  seemed  to   have   a 
legitimate   abiding-place  in  the  liands  of  powdered 
footmen,  valets,  and  lackeys  generally,  consigned  to  a 
degradation  from  which  it  appeared  destined  never  to 
rise. 

Shortly  after  the  American  Revolution,  at  which 
period  all  the  Christian  world  was  more  or  less  bel- 
ligerent, the  side-arm  was  laid  by,  (for  all  men  were 
tired  of  war  and  its  insignia,)  and  the  popularitv  of 
the  cane  began  to  revive.  It  made  its  way  into  favor, 
at  first,  but  slowly;  elderly  and  middle  aged  gentle- 
men, lawyers,  and  officers  of  the  army,  alone  adopt- 
ing it.  Its  form  was  also  exceedingly  simple,  resem- 
bling strikingly,  the  original  Roman  cani.  Its  mate- 
rial was  usually  the  limb  of  an  Indian  tree,  stout. 


156  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

Straight,  and  of  a  bright  brown  color,  having  a  steel 
ferrule  and  a  plain  gold  head,  with  an  eye,  through 
which  was  passed  a  black  silk  cord  terminating  in  two 
tassels.  This  form  of  the  cane,  and  its  limitation 
to  the  personages  above  mentioned,  prevailed  until 
the  commencement  of  the  present  century,  when  this 
exclusiveness  gradually  disappeared;  younger  gentle- 
men beginning  to  make  their  appearance  with  it  on 
the  Sabbath,  and  by  and  by  some  few,  who  were  gen- 
tlemen of  leisure,  wearing  it  all  times.  It  was  not 
long  before  it  got  to  be  worn  by  aspiring  youths  of  all 
classes,  but  rather  as  a  portion  of  holyday  attire  than 
an  article  of  ordinary  convenience  and  ornament.  It 
has  been  growing  steadily  into  favor  ever  since;  and 
men  now  wear  canes,  not,  as  twenty-five  years  ago, 
as  the  badge  of  a  gentleman  or  the  indication  of  dan- 
dyism, but,  with  certain  exceptions  to  be  mentioned 
hereafter,  as  a  useful,  convenient,  and  agreeable  com- 
panion, a  friend  to  stand  by  in  the  hour  of  danger, 
and  to  him  who  is  worthy  of  wearing  it,  wife,  horse, 
dog,  friend,  all  in  one. 


THE    BLACK    PATCH; 


OR. 


A  YEAR  AND  A  DAY 


14 


^^^ 


'p 


Jl 


/' 


THE    BLACK    PATCH; 

OR. 

A  YEAR  AND  A  DAY.* 


One  Christmas  eve,  not  many  years  ago,  the  long, 
paved  room  of  an  old  and  renowned  cafe,  near  the 
cathedral  in  Charles  street,  New  Orleans,  was  brilliant 
with  lights  and  gay  with  the  sound  of  many  voices. 
Nearly^every  one  of  its  little  marble  tables,  arranged 
at  regular  intervals  around  the  wall,  was  occupied  by 
one  or  more  individuals,  either  sipping  strong  Arabian 
coffee,  (for  which  this  house  was  famous,)  from  cups 
the  size  of  half  an  egg  shell;  playing  at  the  everlasting 
game  of  "  domino,"  smoking,  reading  the  gazette,  or, 
by  the  loud  and  energetic  conversation,  adding  to  the 
confusion  characteristic  of  a  well  frequented  restaura- 
teur. Waiters  in  white  jackets,  white  aprons,  and  red 
caps,  were  flying,  jostling  to  and  fro,  bearing  on  Uttle 
salvers,  coifee,  in  pots  and  cups,  in  size  and  appear- 
ance like  children's  tea-sets;  liquors  of  every  name 
and  hue;  cigars,  and  multitudinous  glasses  of  brandy 

»  This  is  a  simple  relation  of  facts  which  actually  occurred.  It  is 
one  of  a  series  of  sketches  under  the  title  of  "  Ultra  Montaine;"  the 
scenes  and  incidents  of  which  are  laid  beyond  the  Allcghanies,  which 
the  author  has  written  for  publication  at  some  future  time  in  a  pair  of 
volumes. 


160  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

and  water,  a  favorite  New  Orleans  beverage.  A  cano- 
py of  tobacco  smoke,  the  density  of  which,  all  were 
contributing  to  increase  with  commendable  industry, 
(for  nearly  every  one  smoked  either  cigar,  pipe,  or 
segarillo,)  concealed  the  upper  half  of  the  columns 
supporting  the  ceiling,  and  hung  low  above  the  heads 
of  the  crowd,  which,  judging  from  costume,  speech, 
and  complexion,  represented  every  christianised  nation 
on  the  globe. 

Apart,  at  the  upper  extremity  of  the  room,  sat  a 
young  gentleman,  who,  from  his  dress  and  air,  was 
evidently  a  Parisian.  He  was  not  more  than  twenty- 
five  years  of  age  with  a  slight,  almost  feminine  figure, 
of  strikingly  elegant  proportions.  His  eyes  were  of  a 
clear  gray  color,  with  an  eagle-like  expression.  In  his 
small  beautiful  shaped  mouth,  softness,  I  may  say 
sweetness  and  manly  decision,  were  equcrlly  blended. 
His  dress  was  rich  and  in  the  fashion  of  1830,  the 
period  of  our  story.  He  had  been  taking  coffee  with 
a  companion  who  had  just  departed  and  was  now 
seated  facing  the  room,  with  one  arm  on  the  table  and 
a  foot  upon  a  chair,  and  with  his  hat  off,  leaving  ex- 
posed his  fine  head  and  temples,  over  which  rich 
brown  curls  fell  with  natural  grace.  He  was  smok- 
ing and  surveying  the  motley  assembly,  occasionally, 
as  it  seemed,  by  a  slight  smile,  or  a  humorous  twinkle 
of  his  eyes,  amusing  himself  with  the  ludicrous  fea- 
tures which  an  apt  and  observing  mind  will  always 
detect  in  such  a  scene.  He  had  finished  his  third  Ha- 
vanna,  the  hour  waxed  late,  and  by  degrees  the  ten- 
ants of  the  tables  tooktheir  departure.  The  compara- 
tive stillness  of  the  room  first  appeared  to  rouse  him 
to  a  consciousness  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour.  Hastily 
rising,  he  threw  a  crown  upon  the  table,  and  was 
about  also  to  depart,  when  two  persons  who  had 
entered  as  he  rose  from  his  chair,  advanced  up 
the  room.  One  of  them  was  a  tall,  handsome  Eng- 
hshman,  with  a  large  muscular  frame,  his  fine  fea- 


THE  BLACK  PATCH.  161 

tures  were  bloated  by  dissipation,  and  his  whole  air 
was  that  of  a  fashionable  roue.  His  companion,  by 
the  brown  cheek,  full,  black  eye,  light  and  symmetri- 
cal form,  small  hand,  profusion  of  jewels  and  general 
indolence  of  action,  betrayed  the  wealthy  jNIexicau 
exile,  many  of  whom  were  at  this  period  in  New  Or- 
leans. He  threw  himself  into  the  seat  vacated  by  the 
young  Frenchman,  and  ordered  the  officious  "  gargon" 
to  bring  a  glass  of  absente.  The  Englishman  was 
about  to  take  the  opposite  chair,  calling  at  the  same 
time  refreshments  in  a  boisterous  voice,  as  if  he  was 
partly  intoxicated,  when  fragments  of  cigars,  little 
heaps  of  ashes,  empty  cups,  and  other  signs  of  the 
recent  occupancy  of  the  table,  met  his  eye. 

"What  the  deuce,  Garcia!  Take  another  table. 
Some  cursed  Frenchman  has  just  left  this.  Faugh!  It 
smells  of  garlick.  Come,  senor,  take  the  table  oppo- 
site. These  Frenchmen!  with  their  frogs  and  onions! 
Pah!  come  along.'' 

As  the  speaker  turned,  his  eyes  encountered  those 
of  the  young  Frenchman,  sparkling  with  fierce  resent- 
ment. '  For  a  moment  he  bore  his  steady  gaze,  and 
then  looked  away,  as  if  ashamed,  but  the  next  instant, 
as  if  to  show  that  he  meant  what  he  had  said,  and 
would  abide  by  it,  (for  the  Frenchman's  eyes  convey- 
ed a  menace,)  "he  doggedly  added,  as  men  sometimes 
will  do  in  such  cases,  "yes,  frogs  and  garlick  soup,  I 
say — ay  and  all  Frenchmen  to  boot!" 

He  fixed  his  eyes  for  an  instant  after  he  had  spoken, 
with  a  brow-beaten  look  upon  the  young  man,  and 
then  sitting  down,  carelessly  repeated  his  order  to  the 
"  gargon."^  The  Frenchman  gazed  on  him  fixedly  for 
a  few  seconds  longer,  and  then  advanced  a  step  and 
spoke,  while  his  eagle  eye  sparkled  with  angr^^  excite- 
ment. 

"Was  that  remark  meant  for  me?" 

"  As  you  please,"  replied  the  Englishman,  coolly. 
"  Garcon,  a  sardine  with  my  brandy  and  water." 
14* 


162  THE  AMERICAN  LOUXGER. 

"  I  must  consider  your  words  as  personally  aimed, 
monsieur,  and  shall  expect  satisfaction." 

"  Lest  you  should  be  in  doubt  as  to  its  personality 
take  thatl  and  be  careful  how  you  interfere  with  my 
remarks  a  second  time." 

With  the  word,  the  EngUshman  gave  the  French- 
man a  blow  in  the  face,  which  staggered  him.  For  a 
moment  he  stood  as  if  bewildered  between  surprise 
and  pain,  surveying  his  antagonist  with  a  burning 
cheek  and  a  heaving  breast.  He  thrust  his  hand  into 
his  bosom  as  if  to  grasp  a  weapon,  but  instantly  with- 
drew it,  and  placed  it  upon  his  cheek,  where  he  had 
received  the  disgraceful  blow.  Then,  as  if  governed 
by  some  new  feeling,  he  approached  the  EngHshman 
with  a  look  and  manner  from  which  all  excitement 
was  banished,  and  bending  to  his  ear,  as  he  sat  by  the 
table,  whispered,  so  as  to  be  heard  only  by  him,  "your 
blood,  sir,  shall  wash  out  this  disgrace.  I  bide  my 
time.    If  it  be  a  year  hence,  I  will  be  revenged." 

"  I  will  give  you  a  year  and  a  day  to  win  back  your 
honor."  ^ 

"  A  year  and  a  day." 

The  next  moment  the  young  Frenchman  disap- 
peared. 


Eugene  Berthoud  was  the  only  son  of  a  wealthy 
Parisian  banker.  His  grandfather  lost  his  head  on  the 
guillotine  for  the  crime  of  being  noble.  His  father  had 
been  bred  a  merchant,  to  Avhich  pursuit  he  educated 
Eugene;  and  when  he  became  of  age,  gave  him  a  co- 
partnership in  his  extensive  house,  of  which  there 
were  three  branches,  in  the  cities  of  Liverpool,  Cadiz, 
and  New  Orleans.  Once  a  year  Eugene  made  the 
tour  of  these  marts,  to  supervise  the  immense  business 
which  flowed  through  these  channels  from  the  parent 
fountain.     He  had  arrived  in  New  Orleans  but  ten 


THE  BLACK  PATCH.  163 

days  before  we  met  him  in  the  cafe,  and  had  not  yet 
contemplated  the  object  of  his  visit.  He  had  with- 
drawn to  the  restaurateur  with  one  of  the  partners  of 
his  house,  after  a  laborious  day,  to  take  coffee;  and,  as 
we  have  seen,  was  about  to  retire,  when  the  language 
of  the  Englishman  arrested  his  ear.  A  Frenchman  is, 
perhaps,  above  other  men,  keenly  sensitive  in  all  that 
concerns  national  honor.  His  country — "la  belle 
France" — is  his  idol.  To  praise  or  censure  it,  is  to 
praise  or  censure  him  individually.  They  are  one, 
and  indivisible.  Eugene  Berthoud  felt  like  a  French- 
man; and  like  a  Frenchman  resented  as  personal  the 
insult  cast  upon  his  countrymen.  Who  would  not 
have  done  the  same? 

When  he  received  the  blow,  his  first  impulse  was 
to  take  the  life  of  the  aggressor  upon  the  spot.  But 
he  was  unarmed.  Next^  the  physical  power  of  the 
tall,  muscular  Englishman  left  him  no  chance  in  an 
encounter,  where  success  would  depend  wholly  upon 
physical  superiority;  and  defeat,  he  knew,  would  only 
add  to  his.  disgrace.  His  mind  rapidly  surveyed  these 
features  of  his  position,  and  grasped  them  in  all  their 
bearings.  There  was  yet  another  argument  which  had 
its  weight  upon  a  mind  so  honorably  balanced  as  his, 
and  which  alone  prevented  him  from  making  the  cer- 
tain sacrifice  of  his  life  to  wipe  out  his  disgrace.  This 
was  the  consequences  of  his  death  to  others.  This 
reflection  is  too  apt  to  be  disregarded  by  honorable 
minds.  A  man's  honor  is  as  much  bound  for  the  in- 
terests of  others  as  for  its  own  reputation;  and  there 
can  be  no  greater  absurdity  than  for  a  man  rashly  to 
stake  his  life  to  uphold  his  honor,  when  the  loss  of  his 
life  would  bring  ruin  upon  those  to  whom  he  is  bound 
by  some  one  of  the  ties  of  life.  It  is  with  honor  to 
purchase  dishonor.  The  reflection  of  the  injury  his 
father's  commercial  affairs,  of  which  he  had  almost 
the  sole  management,  would  receive  by  any  fatal  rash- 
ness on  his  part,  checked  his  hand,  as  he  was  about  to 


164  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

throw  the  Englishman  his  card  preparatory  to  a  meet- 
ing the  ensuing  morning.  And  feeUng  that  it  was  his 
duty  before  he  acted  for  himself,  to  be  able  to  do  so 
without  involving  the  interests  of  those  with  whom  he 
was  connected,  he  instantly  decided  on  the  course  he 
should  pursue;  and  signifying  to  his  foe  that  he  should 
hold  him  accountable  for  the  insult  he  had  received, 
he  left  the  apartment.  We  leave  the  most  finical  of 
our  readers  to  decide  whether  Eugene  Berthoud  acted 
in  this  instance  as  a  gentleman  and  merchant  should 
have  done,  or  whether  it  would  have  been  more  ho- 
norable for  the  gratification  of  personal  hostility,  to 
have  sacrificed  the  fortunes  of  his  commercial  part- 
ners. 

"Have  I  been  struck?"  he  groaned  in  mental  an- 
guish, giving  vent  to  his  emotion  as  he  gained  the 
street.  "Struck!  and  the  man  is  free  who  gave  the 
blow!  That  Eugene  Berthoud  should  have  lived  to 
suffer  such  disgrace!'^ 

He  hurried  along  Rue  des  Chartres  with  his  hand 
to  his  cheek,  which  he  had  not  uncovered  since  the 
blow,  as  if  he  would  hide  the  spot  from  every  human 
eye.  Arrived  at  his  hotel,  and  answering  no  question, 
returning  no  nod  of  recognition  from  friends  who 
passed  him  in  the  halls,  he  sought  his  room,  shut  and 
locked  the  door  behind  liim,  and  cast  himself  upon  his 
bed. 

"A  blow!"  he  cried,  as  he  buried  his  face  in  the 
pillow,  "and  revenge  is  forbidden  me!" 

The  feelings  of  a  high-minded  man,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances in  which  he  was  placed — injured  honor 
pointing  to  instant  revenge — but  a  more  sacred  and 
legitimate  honor,  withholding,  for  a  time,  the  expres- 
sion of  his  resentment,  are  better  left  to  the  imagina- 
tion than  to  the  pen. 


THE  BLACK  PATCH.  165 

The  following  day,  and,  indeed,  for  several  days 
afterwards,  a  young  man  might  have  been  seen  in  the 
streets  of  New  Orleans,  apparently  absorbed  in  busi- 
ness, wearing  a  large  black  patch  covering  one  side  of 
his  face.  He  answered  no  questions  from  inquisitive 
friends,  and  left  strangers  to  wonder.  It  was  Eugene 
Berthoud.  In  a  few  days  it  was  known  -that  the 
''Stranger  with  the  black  patch,"  as  he  was  designated, 
had  left  the  city.  Men  shrugged  their  shoulders,  won- 
dered, guessed,  and  grew  no  wiser.  A  few  months 
afterwards,  "  the  stranger  with  the  black  patch"  ex- 
cited successively  the  curiosity  of  the  citizens  of  Liver- 
pool and  Cadiz.  At  length  one  evening,  about  the 
first  of  November,  1S:U,  the  diligence  rumbled  up  to 
the  door  of  one  of  the  principal  hotels  in  Paris.  A 
gentleman,  wrapped  to  the  eyes  in  a  cloak,  descended 
from  it,  and  walked  away  at  a  rapid  pace.  Hastily 
traversing  the  Rue  de  Richelieu,  he  entered  a  narrow 
alley,  and  soon  emerged  in  an  open  square,  surround- 
ed by  stately  dwellings.  He  crossed  the  area  to  one 
of  them,  ascended  the  steps,  and  without  ringing  ap- 
plied a  master-key,  entered,  and  closed  the  door.  He 
passed  through  the  hall  with  familiar  footsteps,  and 
opened  a  door  at  its  extremity,  and  entered  what  might 
be  either  a  library  or  a  counting-room.  Before  a  table 
covered  with  check  and  account  books,  bills  of  lading, 
receipts,  and  all  the  abstract  signs  and  appendages  of 
commerce,  sat  a  fine-looking  gentleman,  about  sixty 
years  of  age,  poring  over  an  invoice.  He  raised  his 
eyes;  the  stranger  dropped  his  cloak,  and  Eugene 
Berthoud  stood  before  his  father. 
The  parent  rose  to  embrace  him. 
"Forbear,  sir!  I  am  unworthy  of  your  embrace." 
"Wounded,  Eugene?"  he  exclaimed,  his  eyes  hav- 
ing been  arrested  by  the  black  patch. 
'''To  the  heart's  core.  I  have  been  struck!" 
"Ha!"  cried  the  chivalrous  old  Frenchman,  with  a 
sparkling  eye.     "  But  you  gave  back  the  blow?" 


166  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

"  I  did  not." 

"  A  Berthoud  struck,  and  the  man  unscathed  who 
did  it!" 

"  Lives,  and  untouched." 

"  Then,  Eugene  Berthoud,  you  are  not  my  son," 
said  the  old  Frenchman,  turning  from  him  with  indig- 
nant contempt. 

"Sir! " 

"  Not  a  word.  In  your  person  the  blood  of  a  chi- 
valrous race  has  been  attainted." 

In  a  few  words,  Eugene,  with  a  burning  cheek,  re- 
lated the  scene  in  the  caf6,  and  his  motives  in  delay- 
ing his  revenge. 

M.  Berthoud  commended  his  nice  sense  of  honor, 
and  restored  him  to  his  affection. 

"My  affairs,"  concluded  Eugene,  "and  those  of 
our  house  are  all  settled.  I  have  devoted  the  last  ten 
months  to  it.  You  will  find  by  these  papers  that 
every  thing  is  correct.  I  had  no  right  to  expose  my 
life  to  the  injury  of  others.  Adieu,  sir!  when  we  meet 
again,  the  son  shall  not  be  ashamed  to  encounter  the 
eye  of  his  parent." 

'  Placing  a  packet  on  the  table,  he  wrapped  himself 
in  his  cloak,  left  the  house,  and  hastened  to  the  hotel. 
The  next  evening  but  one,  the  hills  of  "  sunny  France" 
were  just  sinking  beneath  the  horizon,  as  the  eyes  of 
the  young  Frenchmen  surveyed  from  the  deck  of  a 
packet  ship,  perhaps  for  the  last  time,  the  shores  of 
his  native  land. 


On  Christmas  eve,  one  year  after  the  events  related 
in  the  commencement  of  this  sketch,  the  cafe  St.  Louis 
presented  a  scene  very  similar  to  that  we  have  before 
described.  There  stood  the  same  little  marble  tables 
arranged  along  the  sides— there  sat  what  appeared  to 
be  the  same  domino-players — the  same  smokers — the 


THE  BLACK  PATCH.  167 

same  brandy  and  water  and  liqueur  bibbers — the  same 
newspaper  porers,  and  the  same  gargons  in  white 
jackets  and  red  caps,  with  httle  salvers  in  their  hands, 
running  the  same  endless  round:  and  as  usual,  there 
was  a  constant  coming  and  going  of  hungry  and 
thirsty  bipeds.  By  and  by  their  number  decreased, 
till  not  more  than  twenty  individuals  remained  in  the 
room.  No  one  had  entered  for  some  time,  when  the 
door  swung  open,  and  Eugene  Berthoud,  with  the 
black  patch  upon  his  clieek  came  in.  He  passed  up 
the  apartment,  attracting  all  eyes,  but  indifferent  to 
observation.  His  piercing  glance  rested  an  instant  on 
every  countenance,  as  he  traversed  the  apartment,  but 
the  face  he  sought  was  not  among  them.  He  had 
been  ten  days  in  New  Orleans,  and  night  and  day  had 
been  seeking  the  Englishman,  whom  he  knew  to  be  a 
resident  of  the  city,  in  all  his  haunts.  For  the  tenth 
night  had  he  entered  the  cafe  St.  Louis,  and  waited 
till  midnight,  if  perchance  he  might  make  his  appear- 
ance. "  The  year  expires  to-night,"  he  thought,  as 
he  leaned  against  a  column,  and  with  folded  arms 
fixed  his  eyes  steadfastly  on  the  distant  door,  with  the 
intenseness  of  a  tiger  lying  in  wait  for  his  prey.  Who, 
in  the  slight,  elegant  figure  and  youthful  face  of  the 
young  Frenchman,  would  have  looked  for  that  deep, 
settled  determination  of  spirit  which  he  possessed — for 
the  least  trace  of  that  fearful  vengeance  which  he  was 
about  to  exhibit? 

Nine — ten — eleven  o'clock  passed,  and  he  contin- 
ued to  lean  against  the  column  with  his  gaze  concen- 
trated on  the  door.  At  length  it  opened,  and  a  party 
of  young  gentlemen  entered  in  high  spirits.  From 
their  conversation,  they  evidently  had  just  come  from 
the  theatre.  One  after  the  other  he  examined  their 
features  till  six  had  entered.  The  door  was  still  ajar 
— there  was  a  moment's  delay,  and  a  seventh  came 
in.     It  was  "  the  Englishman!" 

Reader!  you  should  have  witnessed  the  expression 


168  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

of  Eugene  Berthoud's  face  at  that  moment!  The 
party  walked  up  the  length  of  the  room;  and  all  had 
passed  him  but  the  Englishman.  He  came  opposite 
the  column,  and  Eugene  stepped  out  and  confronted 
him. 

"  The  time  has  come!"  he  said,  in  a  low  and  calm, 
but  strangely  impressive  voice. 

"  Who  are  you,  sir?" 

"Your  foe!" 

"  I  never  saw  you  before." 

"  Do  you  not  remember  that  just  one  year  ago  this 
night,  on  this  spot,  you  struck  a  Frenchman  in  the 
face?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  am  he.   This  patch  has  ever  since  hid  the  spot." 

This  was  said  in  the  even,  quiet  tones  of  familiar 
conversation.  There  was  no  sign  of  passion  visible 
in  his  countenance.  The  companions  of  the  English- 
man had  gathered  round  and  listened  with  surprise. 

"  But  it  is  so  long  ago — there  is  no  cause  for  quar- 
rel," said  the  EngUshman. 

"  That  you  may  have  cause,  I  will  strike  you,"  said 
Berthoud,  quietly. 

Instantly  the  Englishman  received  a  blow  on  the 
face,  from  his  open  hand,  which  made  the  apartment 
ring  again.  Eugene  then  took  a  step  backward  and 
coolly  folded  his  arms.  The  Englishman  would  have 
returned  the  blow,  had  not  his  friends  held  him  back, 
with  cries  of  "  No,  no!  all  fair.  He  is  right!  blow  for 
blow!  you  must  meet  in  the  morning!" 

After  a  few  moments  of  excitement  and  loud  talk- 
ing, during  which  Eugene  remained  calmly  standing 
before  them,  as  if  an  unconcerned  spectator,  cards 
were  exchanged,  and  the  parties  separated. 


The  ensuing  morning  witnessed  a  scene  by  no 


THE  BLACK  PATCH.  169 

means  rare  in  the  metropolis  of  the  south-west.  In  a 
shehered  field,  in  the  suburbs  of  the  lower  Faubourg, 
on  what  is  termed  the  "  Gentilly  road,"  two  hostile 
parties  were  discovered  preparing  to  engage  in  mortal 
combat.  They  were  the  Englishman  and  Eugene 
Berthoud.  They  have  taken  their  stand  at  ten  paces, 
with  pistols  in  their  hands. 

"Are  you  ready?"  asked  Berthoud's  second. 

"  All  ready,"  was  the  reply  of  the  second  of  the  op- 
posite party. 

'•  One— two — three — fire!" 

The  two  pistols  went  off  with  one  report.  The 
Englishman  leaped  half  his  height  into  the  air  and  fell 
dead,  pierced  through  the  heart.  Berthoud  at  the 
same  time  clapped  his  hand  to  his  side  and  staggered 
backward.  Recovering  himself,  he  walked  steadily 
toward  his  antagonist  and  sunk  down  by  his  side. 
Then,  as  the  warm  stream  spouted  from  his  breast,  he 
tore  the  black  patch  from  his  cheek,  bathed  his  hand 
in  it,  and  washed  the  place  it  had  covered. 

"  Now  has  his  blood  wiped  out  the  foul  blot  his 
hand  placed  there.  The  honor  of  Berthoud  is  with- 
out stain.     I  am  satisfied!" 

Eugene  Berthoud,  then,  with  a  smile  on  his  lip, 
breathed  out  his  spirit,  and  the  aggressor  and  avenger 
lay  side  by  side  in  death. 


15 


THE     STUDENT; 


OB. 


LOCKET  RING. 


THE    STUDENT. 


PART  I. 

Hastese.    Prove  me  this  rogue  a  villain,  good  Jicol. 

Jicol.    That  will  I,  and  on  the  book  too.  fair  hostess! 
Me  is  most  damnably  in  debt!    Is't  not  a  rogue? 

Hostess.    By  the  mass  is  he!  a  double-dyed  villain! 
In  debt,  say'st  thou?  I  would  have  sworn 'fore  God, 
Thou  couldst  not  have  proved  him  such  a  rogue. 

"  A  LETTER,  'Bel,"  said  Colonel  Willis,  without  lift- 
ing his  eyes  from  the  morning  gazette,  in  which  he 
was  reading  an  account  of  Perry's  victory — for  at  that 
period  of  the  late  war  our  story  opens,  "  it  is  from 
Charlotte,  no  doubt.  Pray  Heaven  that  scape-grace, 
her  husband,  may  have  run  away  from  her." 

'Bel,  who  had  entered  the  breakfast  room,  brilliant 
with  health  and  beauty,  turned  pale,  and  with  an  eager 
yet  trembling  hand,  took  the  letter  from  the  table,  and 
retiring  to  a  recess  of  one  of  the  windows,  hastily  tore 
the  seal,  and  earnestly  perused  its  contents. 

"  My  dearly  beloved  Isabel: 

"  How  I  yearn  to  be  once  more  folded  in  your  sisterly 
embrace,  to  lean  my  aching  head  upon  your  bosom, 
and  pour  my  heart  into  yours.     It  is  near  midnight. 

15» 


174  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

Edward  has  gone  out  to  seek  some  means  of  earning 
the  pittance  which  is  now  our  daily  support.  Poor 
Edward!  How  he  exists  under  such  an  accumulation 
of  misery,  I  know  not.  His  trials  have  nearly  broken 
his  proud  and  sensitive  spirit.  Since  his  cruel  arrest, 
his  heart  is  crushed.  He  will  never  hold  up  his  head 
again.  He  sits  with  me  all  day  long,  gloomy  and  de- 
sponding, and  never  speaks.  Oh  how  thankful  I  feel 
that  he  has  never  yet  been  tempted  to  embrace  the 
dreadful  alternative  to  which  young  men  in  his  cir- 
cumstances too  often  fly !  May  he  never  fly  to  the 
oblivious  wine  cup  to  fly  from  himself.  In  this,  dear 
Isabel,  God  has  been,  indeed,  merciful  to  me.  Last 
night  Edward  came  home,  after  offering  himself  even 
as  a  day  laborer,  and  yet  no  man  would  hire  him,  and 
threw  himself  upon  the  floor  and  wept  long  and  bit- 
terly. When  he  became  calmer,  he  spoke  of  my  suf- 
ferings and  his  own,  in  the  most  hopeless  manner,  and 
prayed  that  he  might  be  taken  from  the  world,  for  Pa 
would  then  forgive  me.  But  this  will  never  be.  One 
grave  will  hold  us  both.  I  have  not  a  great  while  to 
live,  Isabel!  But  I  do  not  fear  to  die!  Edward!  'tis 
for  Edward  my  heart  is  wrung.  Alas  his  heart  is  har- 
dened to  every  religious  impression — the  Bible  he 
never  opens,  family  prayers  are  neglected,  and  afllic- 
tion  has  so  changed  him  altogether,  that  you  can  no 
longer  recognise  the  handsome,  agreeable  and  fasci- 
nating Edward  you  once  knew.  Oh,  if  pa  Avould  re- 
lent, how  happy  we  might  all  be  again.  If  dear  Ed- 
ward's debts  were  paid,  and  they  do  not  amount  to 
nine  hundred  dollars  altogether,  accumulated  during 
the  three  years  of  our  marriage,  he  might  become  an 
ornament  to  society,  which  none  are  better  fitted  to 
adorn.  Do,  dearest  Isabel,  use  your  influence  with  pa, 
for  we  are  really  very  wretched,  and  Edward  has  been 
so  often  defeated  in  the  most  mortifying  efTbrts  to  ob- 
tain employment — for  no  one  would  assist  him  because 
he  is  in  debt — (the  very  reason  why  they  should)  that 


THE  STUDENT.  175 

he  has  not  the  resolution  to  subject  himself  again  to 
refusals,  not  untrequently  accompanied  with  insult, 
and  always  with  contempt.  J\Iy  situation  at  this  time, 
dearest  sister,  is  one  also  of  peculiar  delicacy,  and  I 
need  your  sisterly  support  and  sympathy.  Come  and 
see  me,  if  only  for  one  day.  Do  not  refuse  me  this, 
perhaps  the  last  request  I  shall  ever  make  of  you. 
Plead  eloquently  with  pa,  perhaps  he  will  not  perse- 
vere longer  in  his  cruel  system  of  severity.  Edward 
is  not  guilty — he  is  unfortunate.  But  alas,  in  this 
world,  there  is  little  distinction  between  guilt  and  mi- 
sery! Come,  dearest  Isabel — I  cannot  be  said  "  No." 
I  hear  Edward's  footstep  on  the  stair.  God  bless  and 
make  you  happier  than  your  wretched  sister, 

^'  Charlotte." 

With  her  eyes  overflowing  with  tears,  Isabel  folded 
the  letter,  and  buried  her  face  in  the  drapery  of  the 
window  to  hide  her  emotion.  Colonel  Willis,  still  in- 
tent upon  the  gazette,  was  at  length  startled  by  a  sup- 
pressed sobbing,  as  if  the  mourner's  heart  would  break. 
Hastily  crushing  the  paper  in  his  hand,  and  laying 
aside  his  spectacles,  he  approached  the  window:  'Bel, 
my  love,  what  has  caused  this  violent  agitation?"  he 
said,  passing  his  arm  around  her  waist,  and  gently 
drawing  her  to  his  bosom. 

She  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck  exclaiming, 
"Poor,  poor  Charlotte!"  and  the  tears  fell  faster. 

*•  What,  what  of  Charlotte?  no  worse  news  I  hope?" 

''  Oh,  pa,  you  must  do  something  for  them,"  and  she 
looked  up  into  his  face  with  her  liquid  eyes,  which 
pleaded  with  all  the  eloquence  of  sisterly  atfection. 

'•  Isabel,"  said  Colonel  Willis,  sternly,  ''have  I  not 
sworn  that  I  never  will  forgive  them?  Why  will  you, 
my  child"  he  continued  in  a  milder  tone,  *' incur  my 
displeasure  by  a  request  so  often  made,  and  so  repeat- 
edly refused!" 

'•  Yes,  but  pa,  consider  that  poor  Charlotte  : " 


176  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

''  Charlotte  is  only  receiving  the  reward  of  her  own 
folly,"  interrupted  the  parent  impatiently;  "  when  she 
eloped  with  this  fortune  hunter  of  a  poor  student,  she 
knew  the  consequences.  As  she  has  sown,  so  let  her 
reap.  I  forhid  you,  Isabel,  on  pain  of  my  severest  dis- 
pleasure, to  name  the  subject  to  me  again." 

"  Oh,  no,  no!  hear  me  this  once,  my  dear,  dear  pa," 
continued  the  lovely  pleader,  following  him  to  his  arm- 
chair, in  which  he  had  reseated  himself  and  resumed 
the  paper,  "  I  have  just  received  such  a  letter  from 
Charlotte!" 

"  And  haven't  I  been  pestered  to  death  with  letters, 
till  I  have  ordered  the  post  master  to  direct  back  all 
letters,  addressed  to  me  bearing  the  Covington  post 
mark?  Isabel,  it  is  useless  for  you  to  say  any  thing 
more.  My  mind  is  made  up — The  laws  of  the  Medes 
and  Persians  were  not  more  unchangeable  than  my 
determination.  1  would  not  aid  them  to  keep  him 
from  the  gallows,  and  her  from — " 

"  Pa,  pa!"  cried  Isabel,  placing  her  hand  upon  his 
mouth,  "  Oh,  my  dear  father,  why  will  you  be  so  ri- 
gid?" and  the  distressed  maiden  burst  into  tears. 

Colonel  Willis  was  moved  by  the  depth  and  energy 
of  her  emotion.  "  Forgive  me,  my  child,"  he  said  af- 
fectionately embracing  her,  "you,  at  least,  have  never 
disobeyed  me,  and  I  would  not  intentionally  wound 
your  feelings.  You  are  now  my  only  child,"  he  added 
with  tenderness,  yet  with  better  emphasis;  and  he  press- 
ed for  a  moment  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  as  if  pain- 
ful thoughts  were  passing  through  his  mind. 

"Pa,"  said  Isabel,  in  a  low,  sweet,  coaxing  tone, 
seizing  a  mood  so  favorable  to  her  wishes,  determined 
not  to  be  defeated  in  her  benevolent  object,  "  now 
wont  you  read  poor  Charlotte's  letter?" 

"  I  am  very  busily  reading,"  he  said  in  a  gruff,  de- 
cided tone,  rattling  the  paper  and  bringing  it  closer  to 
his  eyes  emphatically,  as  if  to  silence  importunity. 


THE  STUDENT.  177 

"  But,  pa,  sister  Charlotte  writes  me  to  visit  her  for 
a  few  days!" 

The  whole  attention  of  Colonel  Willis  was  directed 
still  more  perseveringly  to  the  columns  of  the  gazette, 
notwithstanding  his  spectacles,  without  the  assistance 
of  which  he  could  not  see  a  letter,  were  lying  behind 
him  on  the  table. 

"  She  writes  me,"  continued  the  persevering  girl, 
"  that  she  is  very  ill." 

"  111!  ill,  did  you  say,  Isabel?"  he  cried,  thrown  off 
his  guard,  all  the  father  struggling  in  his  bosom  for  the 
master)'. 

"N — no,  not  exactly  ill — ^just  now,  pa— but — 
but — "  and  the  confused  and  blushing  girl  hesitated. 
Turning  sharply  round  at  her  embarrassment,  her  fa- 
ther repeated — "  '  N — no,  not  exactly  ill — but — but — 
but — '  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  hesitancy,  Isa- 
bel? I  have  never  known  you  to  deceive  me,  and  I 
cannot  think  you  would  fabricate  an  untruth  even  to 
see  your  worthless  sister.  Give  me  the  letter!"  he 
added,  sternly.  Isabel  gave  it  to  him  in  silence.  He 
adjusted  his  spectacles  and  commenced  perusing  it; 
uttering  a  "pshaw"  at  even,-  few  lines;  but  when  he 
came  to  the  sentence  in  which  his  daughter  alluded  to 
her  approaching  illness,  earnestly  beseeching  her  sis- 
ter to  be  with  her  at  that  time,  Isabel,  who  had 
watched  every  movement  of  his  features,  observed  a 
softened  expression  pass  over  them,  and  a  tear  which 
he  in  vain  strove  to  crush  with  his  eye  lid,  steal  down 
his  browned  cheek.  Nature,  true  to  herself,  at  such 
a  moment,  would  assert  her  empire.  "  Poor  Charlotte 
indeed!"  he  said,  half  aloud,  closing  the  letter,  as  the 
tear  dropped  upon  it  and  blotted  her  name,  "  Isabel, 
you  may  go  to  her." 

The  next  moment  she  was  weeping  for  joy  in  her 
father's  arms. 


THE    STUDENT 


PART  II. 


THE    STUDENT 


PART  II. 


Edward  Carrington  had  been  two  years  a  stu- 
dent of  divinity,  when  liis  heahh,  impaired  by  inces- 
sant toil  beside  the  midnight  lamp,  exiled  him  to  a 
more  genial  clime  than  that  of  New  England.  A  gra- 
duate of  Dartmouth  college,  he  had  supported  himself 
through  his  collegiate  course  on  the  scanty  pittance 
realised  by  keeping  a  village  school  during  the  winter 
vacations,  for  he  was  the  only  son  of  his  mother,  and 
she  was  a  widow,  pious,  humble  and  poor.  Through 
his  triennial  course  of  Theology,  to  his  individual  ex- 
ertions alone  he  also  looked  for  support.  He  chose 
the  ministry,  not  to  promote  his  worldly  interests,  to 
have  a  "  profession"  or  from  any  other  improper  mo- 
tives: but  from  a  sense  of  duty,  and  because,  as  a  min- 
ister of  the  gospel,  he  felt  that  he  would  be  most  use- 
ful to  his  fellow  men.  Answering  the  apostle's 
directions  for  this  sacred  office,  he  was  vigilant,  pa- 
tient, sober,  apt  to  teach,  and  withal  conscientiously 
and  sincerely  pious.    He  therefore  chose  the  ministry. 

There  remained  but  one  year  to  complete  his  course 
of  study,  when  that  last  hope,  and  often,  ultimately, 
the  grave  of  the  northern  consumption — a  southern 
16 


182  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

climate — wooed  him  to  health.  He  left  home  with 
bright  hopes,  a  light  purse,  and  his  mother's  blessing. 

On  board  the  packet  carrying  him  from  Boston  to 
Charleston,  was  the  president  of  a  southern  Univer- 
sity, returning  home  from  a  tour  among  the  lakes  of 
New  England.  The  unassuming  manners  and  agree- 
able conversation  of  Edward,  united  with  his  fine 
talents  and  high  scholastic  attainments,  ripened,  in  the 
space  of  a  few  days,  from  a  mere  traveller's  acquaint- 
ance, into  an  intimacy  which  promised  to  promote 
materially  the  interests  of  our  young  adventurer.  On 
his  arrival  at  the  port  of  their  destination,  the  Presi- 
dent proposed  to  him  that  he  should  accept  a  tutorship 
in  his  university,  until  he  could  obtain  a  private  situ- 
ation in  a  planter's  family,  when  his  duties  would  be 
less  laborious,  and  more  time  could  be  found  for  study. 
In  a  few  days,  Edward  was  busily  engaged  in  fulfil- 
ling the  duties  of  his  new  station. 

The  officers  of  the  college  were  occasionally  invited 
to  the  dinner  parties  given  by  the  neighboring  planters. 
On  one  of  these  occasions,  six  months  after  his  arrival 
in  the  south,  at  Laurel  Hill,  the  residence  of  her  fa- 
ther, Colonel  Willis,  a  surviving  revolutionary  soldier, 
Edward  saw  for  the  first  time  the  lovely  and  accom- 
plished Charlotte  Willis,  the  eldest  of  two  daughters, 
the  only  children  of  this  gentleman.  Charlotte  was  at 
this  period,  just  entering  her  nineteenth  year.  Her 
figure  was  faultless.  Her  hair  was  jetty  as  the  raven's 
plumage,  her  eyes  large,  black,  and  full  of  intellectual 
expression.  She  was  altogether  a  graceful  and  fasci- 
nating creature,  with  an  excellent  but  susceptible 
heart,  an  amiable  disposition,  and  an  accurately  culti- 
vated mind.  Her  beauty — for  she  was  surpassingly 
fair — like  chef  dfceuvres  of  painting  or  sculpture, 
would  not  at  first  strike  you,  but  won  upon  you  as  you 
gazed.  She  could  not  be  termed  "  beautiful"  exactly, 
nor  ^'  handsome,"  nor, indeed,  "  pretty:"  none  of  these 
terms,  which  have  their  own  proper  applications,  how- 


THE  STUDENT,  183 

ever  pen^erted,  would  suit  her  style  of  beauty.  She 
was  lovely — a  Rose  Bradwardine,  rather  than  a  Flora 
Maclvor.  Her  manner  was  gentle,  and  in  conversa- 
tion, her  eyes  were  oftener  concealed  behind  their 
drooping  lids,  and  long  silky  fringes,  than  lifted  to  the 
faces  of  those  with  whom  she  spoke.  She  was  a 
woman  for  poets  to  deify — for  men  to  love. 

Edward  Carrington  saw  Charlotte  Willis  as  he 
entered  the  drawing  room  at  Laurel  Hill,  and  from 
that  moment  the  destinies  of  the  two  became  forever 
united.  Edward,  at  this  period  was  a  strikingly  hand- 
some young  man.  Health  had  returned  to  his  cheek 
and  animation  to  his  eye.  His  features  were  noble, 
and  his  person  manly  and  elegant.  His  general  man- 
ner was  grave,  or  rather  quiet;  but  when  he  strove  to 
please,  few  men  have  displayed  higher  powers  of  con- 
versation than  he  exhibited — his  wit  flashed,  but  was 
harmless,  while  his  humor  was  irresistible.  Although 
college  professors,  or  "  teachers,"  as  they  are  com- 
monly termed  in  the  south,  are  not  there  recognised  of 
the  "caste"  which  entitles  them  to  free  admission  into 
the  best  southern  society  (for  teaching  is  a  sort  of 
mechanical  employment,  and  therefore,  not  exactly 
comme  ilfaut.)  Edward  Carrington,  on  account  of  his 
pleasing  address,  soon  became  a  frequent  and  wel- 
come visiter  at  the  mansion  of  Colonel  Willis.  What 
with  mingling  voices  in  the  same  air,  bending  till 
cheek  touched  cheek,  over  the  same  drawing — for 
Edward  drew  and  sung  delightfully — riding  out 
nearly  every  evening,  and  other  opportunities  placed 
in  their  way  by  Cupid,  and  to  which  Isabel  was  par- 
iiceps  crimim's,  Edward  and  Charlotte  became  within 
two  months  after  their  first  meeting,  as  deeply  in  love 
as  any  author  of  moderate  ambition  would  wish  his 
hero  and  heroine  to  be.  Charlotte  loved  with  her 
whole  heart.  Her  love  was  deep,  pure,  and  un- 
changeable.    For  Edward  she  lived,  moved,  and  had 


184  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

her  being.  Love  had  changed  her  whole  character. 
It  was  to  her  a  new  existence  of  the  purest  bUss, 
which  she  would  not  exchange  for  any  other.  In  the 
heart  of  Edward,  this  new  passion  which  he  had  in- 
troduced there,  assumed  an  alarming  aspect.  None  of 
the  officers  of  the  institution  were  professors  of 
religion. 

Among  the  surrounding  planters,  its  forms  were 
loosely  observed.  Gaiety  and  pleasure,  and  the 
amusements  and  business  of  life  seemed  to  absorb  all 
minds  around  him.  None  were  congenial  with  his 
own.  His  opportunities  of  private  devotion,  when  he 
first  attached  himself  to  the  University  were  few  and 
interrupted,  as  the  rulers  of  the  institution  required 
that  the  tutors  should  room  with  the  most  troublesome 
students.  That  privacy  necessary  to  devotion,  not 
being  always  attainable,  occasional  omission  of  closet 
devotions,  finally  ripened  into  a  total  neglect  of  them. 
The  lively  society  he  met  with  at  "  Laurel  Hill"  was 
not  calculated  to  foster  religious  feeling,  and  at  length, 
hke  a  plant  that  withers  for  want  of  nourishment  and 
care,  his  religious  impressions  gradually  faded  from 
his  heart,  and  Edward  Carrington  became  a  gay  and 
worldly  young  man.  When  love  took  possession  of 
his  heart,  the  image  of  Charlotte  Willis  wholly  dis- 
placed that  of  the  Savior,  and  the  closet  and  the  Bible 
jcwere  altogether  given  up  for  the  drawing  room  and 
works  of  fiction. 

Four  months  had  expired,  each  day  closer  binding 
the  lovers  in  those  pleasing  chains,  which,  it  is  said, 
no  doubt  slanderously,  that  only  Hymen  can  unloose, 
when  the  eyes  of  Colonel  Willis  were  opened.  The 
lovers  had  never  thought  of  "  Pa."  They  loved  each 
other,  and  looked  not  beyond  themselves  or  the  pre- 
sent moment.  One  afternoon  Colonel  Willis  suddenly 
entered  the  parlor,  and  the  lovers  did  not  recover 
themselves  soon  enough  to  prevent  him  from  observ- 


THE  STUDENT.  185 

ing  that  Edward  had  been  seated  by  Charlotte,  with 
his  arm  enfolding  her  waist,  and  that  she  was  just 
placing  a  large  agate  upon  his  finger. 

Edward  was  sternly  but  politely  forbidden  the 
house — for  Edward  Carrington  was  a  poor  student, 
and  Charlotte  Willis  was  an  heiress!  The  third  morn- 
ing after  this  event,  the  carriage  of  Colonel  WilUs 
rolled  down  the  avenue  to  the  high  road,  followed  by 
an  open  barouche,  containing  servants  and  baggage, 
and  by  the  evening  of  the  next  day,  it  was  known 
generally  throughout  theneighborhod,  that  the  family 
at  Laurel  Hill  had  departed  on  a  tour  to  the  Virginia 
Springs. 

Before  his  departure,  Colonel  Willis  had  so  far  ex- 
erted his  influence  with  the  board  of  Trustees,  of 
which  he  was  a  prominent  member,  that  he  received 
the  promise  that  Mr.  Carrington  should  be  removed 
so  soon  as  one  could  be  found  to  supply  his  place.  In 
the  course  of  three  weeks,  therefore,  Edward  was 
displaced  from  his  tutorship.  The  president,  his  friend 
and  patron,  had  previously  resigned  his  oflice  on  ac- 
count of  ill  health,  and,  notwithstanding  he  was  one 
of  the  most  efiicient  officers  in  the  institution,  Edward 
was  sacrificed  to  the  vindictive  displeasure  of  Colonel 
Willis.  Ill  news  will  fly,  while  good  tidings  move  at 
a  snail's  pace.  In  a  few  days,  it  was  known  to  all, 
who  had  known  Edward,  that  he  had  been  removed 
from  his  tutorship.  There  were  a  hundred  causes  de- 
vised, but  no  one  was  the  true  one.  The  victim  him- 
self well  knew  the  author  of  his  disgrace,  and  bore 
up  against  the  adverse  tide  of  his  fortunes  with  manly 
fortitude.  His  efforts  to  obtain  a  private  tutorship 
were  unsuccessful,  for  busy  rumor  had  begotten  preju- 
dice and  suspicion,  and  all  his  applications  were  coldly 
received.  At  length,  mortified  at  his  disappointment, 
he  determined  to  try  his  fortune  where  his  ill-fame 
had  not  yet  preceded  him,  and  with  the  balance  due 
him  of  his  small  salary,  he  set  forth  on  foot,  for  he  was 
16* 


1S6  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

too  poor  to  ride.  The  wanderer  proceeded  to  a  neigh- 
boring village,  where  he  passed  the  night,  and  in  the 
morning  made  a  detonr  through  the  adjacent  planta- 
tions to  seek  a  private  tutorship  in  some  family,  but 
his  exertions  were  unsuccessful.  He  passed  several 
days,  going  from  village  to  village,  and  from  plantation 
to  plantation,  in  a  fruitless  search  for  a  situation,  until 
his  money  was  exhausted,  he  entered  a  remote  village 
and  threw  himself  upon  the  benevolence  of  the  Metho- 
dist clergyman  of  the  place — for  he  felt  that  if  human 
sympathy  still  lingered  on  earth,  it  must  have  its  home 
in  the  hearts  of  the  followers  of  Christ.  Through  the 
kind  assistance  of  this  good  man,  he  obtauied  a  small 
school  in  the  village,  and  was  once  more  comparatively 
happy.  But  Avhen  he  thought  of  Charlotte,  melan- 
choly and  despondency  reigned  in  his  bosom. 

One  evening  he  was  leaning  over  the  railing  of  a 
rural  bridge  on  the  skirts  of  the  village,  thinking  of 
Charlotte,  and  brooding  over  his  poverty  and  blight- 
ed hopes.  His  disposition  had  become  soured  by  his 
misfortunes,  and  he  dared  not  fly  for  consolation  to 
that  religion,  which  in  prosperity  he  had  neglected. 
He  had  grown  misanthropic;  and  at  times,  during  his 
greatest  destitution,  had  even  dared  to  question  the 
existence  of  an  overruling  Providence.  So  rapid  is 
the  descent  from  belief  to  infidelity,  when  once  the 
hold  is  loosed!  As  he  gazed  into  the  dark  flood  glid- 
ing stilly  beneath,  tempted  to  plunge  into  it,  and  ter- 
minate at  once  his  life  and  sufferings,  the  sound  of 
distant  wheels  and  the  clatter  of  horse's  hoofs  roused 
him  from  his  guilty  meditations,  and  turning  round, 
he  saw  a  carriage  descending  the  hill  to  the  bridge,  and 
the  next  moment,  with  the  speed  which  benighted 
travellers  are  wont  to  exert,  it  rolled  past  him  across 
the  bridge  and  drove  into  the  village.  In  a  country, 
where  every  planter  keeps  his  carriage,  there  was 
nothing  extraordinary  in  the  appearance  of  a  hand- 
some travelling  equipage  entering  an  obscure  hamlet, 


THE  STUDENT.  187 

in  a  remote  district.  Yet  an  undefinable  sensation 
that  he  was  in  some  way  interested  in  the  appearance 
of  this  carriage,  induced  him  to  retrace  his  steps  to  the 
village  inn.  When  he  arrived  there,  he  saw  the  car- 
riage, with  a  barouche  which  had  passed  him  just 
after  he  had  left  the  bridge,  standing  in  the  yard  of 
the  hostlery,  and,  in  reply  to  his  inquiries,  was  inform- 
ed by  a  communicative  slave,  that  -  a  gemman  and  two 
young  misusses  had  come  to  stay  all  night.''  On  en- 
tering the  inn,  the  landlady  told  him  that  she  had  given 
his  room  to  the  two  young  ladies,  as  it  opened  into 
the  gentleman's,  who  was  their  father,  and  that  '•  she 
had  spoken  to  neighbor  Bryan,  across  the  way,  to 
give  him  a  bed  at  her  house.  As  Edward  was  only 
the  '-'teacher,"  he  could  be  stowed  away  any  where, 
as  well  as  be  ejected  from  his  room.  He  quietly 
acquiesced,  and  occupied,  in  common  with  four  little 
chubby  urchins,  his  scholars,  a  bed  at  "neishbor 
Bryan's.'' 

''  Oh  dear!"  exclaimed  one  of  the  young  ladies,  on 
entering  the  student's  bed  room,  '•  we  might  as  well 
sleep  in  the  coach  as  here,  for  this  bit  of  a  box  isn't 
much  bigger." 

''  It  will  do,  Isabel:  any  accommodations  will  be 
good  enough  tor  me — if  you  can  only  put  up  with 
them.  I  am  wearied  of  this  journey:"  and  the  speaker 
leaned  her  head  upon  her  beautiful  hand,  sighed,  and 
gazed  with  an  absent  air  into  a  small  mirror  before 
her,  which  reflected  a  face  pale  but  strikingly  inter- 
esiinir. 

'•  If  pa  thinks  this  driving  about  here,  there,  and 
everywhere,"  said  the  other,  '*  is  to  drive  Edward  out 
of  your  head,  or  mine  either,  for  that  matter,  Charlotte 
— for  I  love  him  almost  as  much  as  you  do — I  can  tell 
him  he  is  sadly  mistaken.  Heaven's!  Charlotte,  look 
at  this  ring!"  she  exclaimed,  taking  from  one  of  the 
little  toilet  drawers  of  the  bureau,  into  one  after  an- 
other of  which,  with  true  female  curiosity,  she  had 


ISS  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

been  peeping,  and  holding  before  her  sister  a  ring  set 
with  a  very  large  agate,  of  peculiar  form;  ^'  It  is  the 
very  ring  you  gave  Edward.'^ 

Charlotte  sprung  forward  with  a  faint,  but  joyful 
exclamation,  seized  the  ring,  gazed  on  it  eagerly  for 
an  instant,  then  with  trembling  fingers  pressed  a  con- 
cealed spring.  The  agate  flew  open,  displaying  a 
mmiature  locket,  Avithin  which  was  enclosed  a  lock 
of  her  own  brown  hair.  She  could  not  be  mistaken! 
It  was  the  self  same  ring  she  was  placing  on  Edward's 
finger,  at  the  fatal  moment  her  father  entered  the  room, 
a  moment  of  mingled  joy  and  bitterness  to  both  lovers, 
and  from  which  all  their  subsequent  and  future  mise- 
ry was  dated.  She  kissed  the  recovered  treasure, 
over  and  over  again,  until  Isabel,  who  thought  she 
never  would  have  done,  proposed  the  very  sensible 
query,  "  I  wonder  how  it  came  here?" 

Poor  Charlotte!  she  was  too  happy  in  the  posses- 
sion of  such  a  memento  of  her  lover,  to  think  of  any 
thing  else  but  the  joy  of  possessing  it.  "  I  wonder 
how  it  did?"  she  at  length  repeated,  thoughtfully  and 
looking  into  Isabella's  face  for  an  explanation.  They 
began  to  puzzle  their  heads  by  a  good  many  possible 
and  impossible  ways,  by  which  it  might  have  come 
there.  The  idea  never  occurred  to  them  that  Edward 
himself  might  have  brought  it  there.  Of  his  dismis- 
sion they  had  not  heard,  nor  indeed  received  any  in- 
telligence of  Edward  since  they  had  left  Laurel  Hill 
three  months  before,  and  supposing  that  he  was  still 
in  the  University,  ihe  hope  of  soon  meeting  with  him, 
as  they  were  now  travelling  homeward,  alone  sup- 
ported Charlotte,  whose  health  and  spirits  were  hour- 
ly passing  away,  during  the  fatigues  of  the  journey. 
That  he  should  be,  therefore,  one  hundred  miles  from 
home  during  term-time,  v\^as  not  probable. 

In  the  midst  of  their  perplexities,  a  little  female 
slave  entered  the  room. 


THE  STUDENT.  189 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  you  little  chit,"  eagerly  inquired 
Isabel,  "  whose  ring  this  is?" 

The  slave  looked  for  a  short  time  closely  at  the  ring 
with  her  large,  round  eyes,  as  if  decyphering  hiero- 
glyphics, and  then  replied  with  great  confidence: 

"  Yes,  missis,  Pse  seen  him  on  um  massa  teacher's 
fing'r." 

*^  The  teacher!"  repeated  Isabel,  looking  archly  at 
her  sister;  "  what  teacher?" 

"  Him  what's  got  dis  room,  missis." 

"  Does  he  keep  a  school  in  the  village?" 

"  Yes,  missis,  he  do,  dis  five,  six  week." 

"Six  weeks!  Itcan't  be, Charlotte.  Where  is  he  now?" 

*<  Gone  over  to  massa  Bryan's." 

"  Do  you  know  his  name?" 

"  Massa  teacher,  missis." 

"  No,  no,  but  his  name?"  interrogated  Isabel  impa- 
tiently. 

<^  I  don't  know,  missis;  dey  al'ays  call  him  massa 
teacher." 

This  information  not  being  very  satisfactory,  and 
despairing  of  further  intelligence  from  such  a  source, 
they  retired  for  the  night — not,  however,  without 
coming  to  the  determination  to  take  possession  of  the 
ring,  arguing  that  he  who  left  it  there  had  no  honest 
title  to  it. 

The  ensuing  morning  at  dawn,  they  resumed  their 
journey,  and  on  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day  arrived 
at  Laurel  Hill.  Here  they  soon  learned  the  fate  of 
Edward. 

"  Charlotte,"  said  Isabel  entering  her  sister's  room, 
the  morning  after  their  return,  and  a  few  minutes 
after  they  had  learned  the  fatal  news,  '^  dry  your  eyes 
— Edward  is  not  lost  to  you,  after  all  pa's  persecution." 

The  weeping  girl  raised  her  tearful  eyes,  and  fixed 
them  with  a  hopeless  gaze  upon  the  animated  face  of 
her  gayer  sister. 

"  Now  don't  look  so  like  a  monument  of  wo.  Char- 


190  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

lotte,"  continued  Isabel,  smiling  and  embracing  her, 
"  and  I  will  tell  you  something  that  will  make  your 
heart  jump.  Do  you  remember  the  little  inn  at  which 
we  slept  four  nights  ago?" 

Charlotte  pressed  the  agate  which  was  upon  her 
finger  to  her  hps,  in  reply. 

"  Well,  then,  it  is  my  belief  that  Edward  left  the 
ring  there — that  it  was  his  room  we  occupied — and 
in  fine  that  he  himself,  and  none  other,  was  '  raassa 
teacher.'  '^ 

Charlotte  hung  upon  her  sister's  words,  trembling 
between  hope  and  fear,  and  then  threw  herself  with  a 
cry  of  joy  upon  her  neck. 

That  night  Charlotte  Willis  mysteriously  disap- 
peared from  the  mansion  at  Laurel  Hill,  leaving  the 
following  note  on  her  father's  dressing  table: 

«  My  DEAR  Father:— 

"  I  have  learned  the  extremity  of  your  anger  against 
Edward.  Your  vindictive  cruelty  has  cast  him  friend- 
less upon  the  world,  and  I  fly  to  share  his  fortune.  I 
must  ask  your  forgiveness  for  the  step  I  am  about  to 
take.  I  am  betrothed  to  Edward  by  vows  that  are 
registered  in  Heaven. — Alas!  it  is  his  poverty  alone  that 
renders  him  so  hateful  to  you — for  once  you  thought 
there  was  no  one  like  Edward.  God  bless  you,  my 
dear  father,  and  make  you  happy  here  and  hereafter. 

"  Your  still  afiectionate  daughter, 

"  Charlotte." 

When  Colonel  Willis  read  this  note,  the  morning 
after  her  departure,  the  violence  of  his  rage  was  un- 
bounded. Isabel  was  calm,  and  so  far  from  being  dis- 
turbed or  surprised  at  her  sister's  absence,  she  wore  a 
smile  of  peculiar  meaning,  as  one  after  another  the 
servants  rode  into  the  court,  bringing  no  tidings  of  the 
fugitive,  that  betrayed  more  knowledge  of  Charlotte's 
movements  than  she  would  have  been  willing  her  fa- 
ther should  know. 


THE  STUDENT.  191 

The  tenth  morning  after  the  mysterious  disappear- 
ance of  his  ring,  which  the  Uttle  slave  informed  him 
she  had  seen  one  of  the  strange  young  ladies  place 
upon  her  finger,  Edward  was  sitting  in  his  room, 
brooding  over  the  shipwreck  of  boxh  his  temporal  and 
spiritual  hopes,  without  the  moral  power  to  retrieve 
either,  when  he  heard  the  stage,  which  three  times  a 
week  passed  through  the  village,  stop  at  the  door  of 
the  inn.  In  a  few  seconds  the  landlady's  voice  reached 
his  ears. 

"  Yes,  my  pretty  lad,  he  is.  That's  the  room  at  the 
top  o'  the  stairs,  right  side  of  the  bannisters."  A  light 
footstep  on  the  stairs,  and  a  faint  tap  at  his  door,  fol- 
lowed this  very  audible  direction. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Edward,  mechanically,  without 
raising  his  eyes,  for  domiciUary  visits  from  his  scho- 
lars were  not  unusual. 

The  door  slowly  opened,  as  if  the  intruder  wanted 
confidence:  and  a  youth,  enveloped  in  a  cloak,  with  a 
cloth  travelling  cap,  such  as  is  worn  by  female  eques- 
trians, but  without  the  plume,  upon  his  head,  entered 
the  room.  Love  penetrates  the  cunningest  disguises. 
One  glance  from  the  student  was  sufficient.  The  re- 
cognition was  mutual. 

"Charlotte!" 

"  Edward!"  And  the  lovers  were  in  each  other's 
arms. 

The  natural  consequence,  when  true  lovers  will 
not  be  twain,  followed  in  this  instance.  They  were 
made  one  the  same  morning,  by  Edward's  friend,  the 
benevolent  Methodist  clergyman.  Edward  now  felt 
that  his  privations  and  sufferings  were  terminated, 
"  For,"  he  said,  folding  her  to  his  heart,  "  there  can  be 
no  suffering  with  so  sweet  a  sharer  of  my  vicissitudes." 

Happy  as  this  marriage  made  Edward  Carrington, 
as  a  lover,  it  involved  him  in  greater  difficulties  as  a 
member  of  society.  Until  now,  he  had,  by  strict  econ- 
omy, just  lived  within  the  limits  of  the  small  income 


192  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

derived  from  his  school.  By  his  marriage  his  expenses 
were  doubled,  while  the  number  of  his  scholars  re- 
mained the  same.  Although  the  gentle  Charlotte,  in 
uniting  her  fate  with  Edward's,  had  acted  with  an 
energy  and  decision  contrary  to  her  native  character, 
(for  what  metamorphoses  will  not  love  effect?)  she  had 
not  acted  without  reflection.  By  the  legacy  of  a  de- 
ceased aunt,  she  possessed  in  her  own  right  five  thou- 
sand dollars,  which  was  placed  in  the  bank  of  Charles- 
ton, subject  either  to  her  own  or,  until  she  was  eigh- 
teen years  of  age,  her  father's  check.  For  this  sum 
she  drew  a  check  the  day  after  her  marriage.  But 
the  first  act  of  her  father,  on  recovering  from  the  burst 
of  rage  to  which  he  gave  way  on  discovering  his 
daughter's  elopement,  was,  as  its  trustee,  to  withdraw 
this  legacy  from  the  bank. 

This  source  so  unexpectedly  dried  up,  the  youthful 
pair,  wretched  in  their  fortunes,  but  happy  in  their 
loves,  exerted  every  means  in  their  power  to  meet  the 
exigences  of  their  situation,  still  continuing  to  occupy 
the  httle  study  which  Edward  had  originally  tenanted. 

It  would  be  painful  to  recount  the  various  vicissi- 
tudes, which  they  had  to  encounter  the  first  year,  dur- 
ing which  period  the  pittance  from  Edward's  school 
scarcely  supplied  them  with  the  necessaries,  and  none 
of  the  comforts  of  life.  At  length  Charlotte  was  taken 
ill,  and  he  was  compelled  to  incur  debts  with  a  phy- 
sician, and  the  stores  in  the  village;  and  for  some  time 
he  continued  to  struggle  through  debt  and  poverty, 
when  the  landlord  of  the  humble  inn,  which  they  had 
so  long  made  their  home,  finding,  that  on  account  of 
Mrs.  Carrington's  illness,  her  husband's  debts  and  ex- 
penses increased,  and  that  bills  from  others  were  pre- 
sented against  him,  which  he  could  not  meet,  began 
to  look  out  for  his  own  interests,  which  were  in  dan- 
ger on  account  of  six  months'  arrears  due  him  for 
their  board.  He,  therefore,  entered  his  room  one 
morning,  and  very  politely  requested  Edward  to  settle 


THE  STUDEXT.  193 

his  bill,  or  find  rooms   elsewhere.      He   could   not 
do  the  foraier,  and  chose  the  latter. 

Over  his  school-house  was  a  vacant  room,  some- 
times used  by  the  erudite  school  committee  as  a  place 
of  meeting.  This  he  was  permitted  to  occupy,  and  with 
the  scanty  furniture  he  had  from  time  to  time  accumu- 
lated, he  furnished  it,  and  moved  there  amid  the  abu- 
sive language  of  his  landlord,  and  the  sneers  of  the 
villagers^  many  of  whom  that  day  took  their  children 
from  school  because  "  the  master  was  such  a  bad  cha- 
racter, alvx^ays  havmg  constables  after  him,"  Ed- 
ward indeed  experienced  the  fate  of  most  debtors,  par- 
ticularly those  who  are  professional  men  or  students. 
A  merchant  may  owe  his  thousands,  and  if  unable  to 
meet  his  notes  at  maturity,  he  "breaks,"  and  at  one 
fell  swoop  settles  with  his  creditors,  perhaps  at  ten 
cents  on  the  dollar.  His  character  stands  as  fair  as 
before.  He  has  only  failed!  But  a  literary  or  pro- 
fessional man,  whose  small  and  uncertain  income  may 
render  the  contraction  of  small  debts  necessary,  alas! 
'cannot  '-fail."  His  accounts,  presented  one  after  an- 
other, are  put  by  in  hopes  of  better  times:  these  never 
arrive,  and  constables,  armed  with  writs,  besiege  his 
door,  and  he  soon  gains  the  reputation,  worse  than 
that  of  the  thief,  or  gambler,  of"  not  paying  his  debts.*' 
A  gentleman,  of  sterling  integrity,  with  a  narrow  in- 
come, may  contract,  with  the  most  upright  intentions, 
several  small  debts,  whose  aggregate,  like  Edward's 
shall  not  exceed  nine  hundred  dollars,  by  which  he 
will  suffer  more  annoyance  and  lose  far  more  in 
reputation,  if  he  is  not  able  to  pay  them  when  due, 
than  the  bold  gambling  speculator,  who  suddenly 
*•  breaks,"  and  leaves  his  protested  name  on  paper  to 
the  amount  of  one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  Truly, 
it  would  seem  less  venial  to  be  a  delinquent  on  a 
large  scale,  than  suffer  the  obloquy  consequent  of 
petty  otfences! 

Edward  Carrington  tinally  became  a  shunned  man 
17 


1 94  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

— for  he  was  in  debt!  His  school  was  gradually- 
dwindling  away,  and  he  in  vain  sought  to  obtain  some 
additional  or  a  more  lucrative  employment.  Day  after 
day  he  traversed  the  vicinity  on  foot,  seeking  the 
means  of  livelihood. — Once  he  was  absent  nearly  two 
days,  when  a  report  flew  through  the  village  that  the 
unhappy  young  man  had  "  run  off,"  leaving  his  wife 
on  the  charity  (Heaven  save  the  mark!)  of  the  town." 
— But  when  at  length  he  returned,  dispirited  and 
broken-hearted,  and  cast  himself  in  despair  upon 
the  floor  of  his  wretched  abode,  unable  to  meet  the 
eyes  of  the  patient  and  suffering  Charlotte,  the  villa- 
gers changed  their  gossip  to  surmises,  "  that  these  fre- 
quent absences  could  be  for  no  good."  And  a  high- 
way robbery  having  been  perpetrated  about  that 
period,  he  was  generally  suspected  of  being  its  author. 
This  latter  rumor  had  not  got  well  whispered  over 
the  town,  before  all  Edward's  creditors  sent  in  their 
bills,  each  anxious  to  get  the  first  share  of  the  wind- 
fall. Alas,  for  the  reputation  of  the  poor  debtor!  No 
crime  is  so  enormous  that  he  is  not  capable  of  com- 
mitting it!  Let  me  be  a  pirate — a  bandit — a  high- 
way robber — a  gambler — a  drunkard — anything  but 
a  poor  debtor! 

Edward's  afflictions,  aided  by  the  patient  example 
and  quiet  infiaence  of  Charlotte,  gradually  drew  him 
back  to  his  religion.  On  her  gentle  nature,  deep  sorrow 
exercised  a  heavenly  influence,  and  unable  to  find  hap- 
piness on  earth,  she  looked  forward  with  the  strong  hope 
of  the  christian,  for  a  resting  place  in  Heaven.  Affliction 
had  made  her  a  Christian!  Her  sweet  influence  drew 
Edward  back  to  the  altars  he  had  deserted,  and  as  he 
kneeled  beside  her  in  morning  and  evening  worship, 
he  felt  that  chastisement  had  been  indeed  a  blessing. 
His  reUgious  exercises  at  length  became  weapons  for 
his  neighbors. — They  very  reasonably  thought,  that 
for  a  man  to  pray  in  his  family,  morning  and  night, 
and  not  pay  his  debts,  must  be  the  very  height  of  hy- 


THE  STUDENT.  195 

pocrisy.  Therefore,  his  unassuming  piety  became  ra- 
ther his  own  enemy.  Daring  all  these  severe  trials, 
the  gentle  Charlotte  was  his  guardian  angel.  She 
checked  his  murmurings,  soothed  his  wounded  spirit, 
and  poured  the  balm  of  consolation  into  his  broken 
heart.  While  he  was  going  from  place  to  place  seek- 
ing a  situation — for  his  little  school  was  now  entirely 
broken  up — she  was  on  her  knees  in  her  closet,  pray- 
ing for  his  success.  When  he  returned  wearied  and 
disappointed,  ready  to  lie  down  and  die  with  the  accu- 
mulation of  his  sorrows,  for  their  last  dollar,  (the 
remnant  of  a  remittance  from  Isabel,  who  knew  their 
situation,  and  who  sent  them  every  dollar  she  could 
command,)  was  gone,  she  exerted  all  those  little  ten- 
dernesses of  voice  and  manner  which  a  young  affec- 
tionate wife  knows  so  well  how  to  avail  herself  of,  to 
encourage  him  to  stem  the  adverse  current.  The 
last  sum  they  had  received  from  the  noble  Isabel, 
was  parted  with  before  night,  to  an  inexorable, 
lynx-eyed  creditor,  who  kept  up  a  system  of  espi- 
onage upon  the  post  office,  (for  he  knew  Edward 
had  received  money  by  letter,)  the  good  natured  post 
master's  lady  having  sent  him  the  information,  that 
"  a  letter  containing  money  had  just  arrived  for  '  the 
teacher.'  " 

A  month  after  this,  a  traveller  was  knocked  down 
and  robbed  near  the  school-house.  The  same  day  a 
small  donation  from  Isabel  arrived,  and  Edward  paid 
a  small  bill  with  all  that  his  necessities  could  spare  of 
it,  to  save  himself  from  the  degradation — worse  than 
death  to  his  sensitive  spirit— of  a  jail.  The  bank  note, 
which  he  gave  in  payment  chanced  to  be  on  the  bank 
of  the  United  States,  and  the  money  of  which  the  tra- 
veller was  robbed  was  in  notes  on  the  same  national 
institution.  There  was  ample  proof  of  guilt  where  a 
poor  and  friendless  man,  and  withal  in  debt,  was  the 
suspected  person.     Edward  was  arrested  on  suspicion, 


196  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

by  the  A^ery  creditor  to  whom  he  paid  the  money,  and 
no  doubt  would  have  fallen  a  victim  to  popular  preju- 
dice, had  not  a  negro,  while  his  examination  was  going 
on  before  the  village  magistrate,  ignorant  of  its  value, 
offered  a  one  hundred  dollar  note  on  the  same  bank  at 
a  grocery.  He  was  dragged  before  the  magistrate — 
and  on  the  appearance  of  this  more  probable  criminal, 
the  justice  discharged  Edward,  unable  to  prove  any- 
thing against  him,  advising  him  "  to  pay  his  debts  and 
become  an  honest  man." 

There  are  men  who  censure,  pity,  nay,  shun  their 
neighbors  in  distress,  when  by  the  offer  of  a  fraction 
of  their  means,  their  countenance  or  advice,  they  might 
advance  him  to  a  situation  where  he  would  command 
their  respect,  instead  of  exciting  their  contempt  or  com- 
miseration. The  magistrate  was  wealthy  and  a  bache- 
lor, and  might  have  enabled  Edward  to  follow  his  in- 
sulting advice,  without  the  diminution  of  a  single 
bottle  of  wine  a  year,  or  a  less  quantum  of  sleep.  But 
Edward  was  poor  and  in  debt — two  very  excellent 
and  sufficient  reasons  why  he  should  not  receive  as- 
sistance. Through  the  hands  of  this  magistrate,  who 
was  a  member  of  the  church,  and  ate  and  drank  at  the 
communion  table,  had  passed  all  the  demands  against 
Edward.  He  consequently  was  aware  of  his  circum- 
stances, his  resources,  and  his  inabihty  to  liquidate  his 
debts,  nevertheless  took  no  steps  to  relieve  him.  Yet 
this  man  was  a  Christian,  made  long  prayers  at 
monthly  concerts,  and  professed  to  love  his  neighbor 
as  himself !  How  little  there  is  to  distinguish  the  pro- 
fessor from  the  non-professor,  in  the  daily  transactions 
of  life! 

From  the  moment  of  his  arrest,  Edward  abandoned 
himself  to  his  fate,  and  sat  for  hours,  without  speak- 
ing, beside  his  patient  and  dying  wife,  for  unexpressed 
grief  was  silently,  like  the  worm  in  the  bud,  feeding 
upon  her  damask  cheek,  and  sapping  at  the  germ  of 


THE  STUDENT.  197 

life.  At  this  period  of  their  melancholy  existence, 
when  she  began  to  look  forward  to  the  hopes  and  plea- 
sures of  a  mother;  Charlotte  addressed  the  letter  to 
her  sister,  with  which  we  commenced  this  tale  of  real 
life. 


17' 


THE    STUDENT 


PART  III. 


THE    STUDENT 


PART  III. 

Ox  a  pleasant  afternoon  in  June,  six  clays  after 
Charlotte  had  written  the  letter  the  reception  of  which 
formed  the  introduction  to  our  tale,  the  arrival  of  a 
handsome  close  carriage,  with  dark  bay  horses,  and  a 
footman,  its  pause  at  the  stairs,  leading  on  the  outside 
of  the  school  house  to  Edward's  room  above,  and  the 
descent  from  it  of  a  beautiful  young  lady,  created 
quite  a  sensation  throughout  the  gossiping  village  of 
Covington.  Before  sunset,  there  was  not  a  soul,  from 
the  bedridden  grandam  to  the  squalling  infant,  that 
did  not  know  that  the  "  elegant  fine  lady"  was  Isabel 
Willis,  sister  of  ''that  Mrs.  Carrington"  who  had 
come  to  pass  a  few  days  with  her. 

We  pass  over  Isabel's  sensations  at  witnessing 
Charlotte's  wretchedness,  the  half  of  which  had  not 
been  told  her.  She  lost  not  a  moment  in  looking  for 
a  better  house,  and  easily  obtained,  for  she  wore  the 
exterior  of  opulence,  a  neat  white  cottage,  in  a  plea- 
sant situation.  Paying  the  first  quarter  in  advance, 
and  purchasing  several  necessary  articles  of  furniture, 
the  next  day  she  saw  them  take  possession  of  it,  both 
far  happier  than  they  had  been  for  a  long  period.  The 


202  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

little  cottage  was  ornamented  with  a  portico,  honey- 
suckles wound  around  the  columns,  and  climbed  up 
the  windows,  there  was  a  white  paling  before  it,  en- 
closing a  little  green  front  yard,  and  altogether  their 
new  abode  wore  an  air  of  comfort  and  seclusion  that 
was  soothing  to  the  senses.  The  first  evening  under 
their  new  roof  was  sanctified  by  the  erection  of  the 
family  altar.  Edward's  heart  was  touched  by  this 
change  in  his  condition,  and  he  gave  utterance  to  his 
overloaded  bosom,  in  grateful  and  humble  thanksgiv- 
ings. They  kneeled  together  there — a  holy  family; 
the  beautiful  Isabel  beside  the  bedside  of  her  sister, 
who  lay  with  her  transparent  eyelids  closed,  her  ema- 
ciated fingers  clasped  and  her  lips  parted — pale  and 
ethereal  in  her  fading  loveliness;  while  Edward,  his 
haggard,  yet  intellectual  face  lifted  upward,  his  eyes 
streaming  with  tears  of  penitence  and  gratitude  poured 
forth  his  soul  in  prayer.  It  was  a  scene  for  angels  to 
linger  over,  as  they  passed  on  their  celestial  messages. 
But  Isabel,  although  with  the  limited  means  her 
father  had  allowed  her,  for  her  own  expenses,  she  had 
done  so  much  to  promote  their  comfort,  could  not  re- 
lease Edward  from  the  incubus — debt,  which  weighed 
down  his  spirits,  and  continued  to  spread  a  blight 
upon  his  reputation.  Early,  the  morning  after  they 
had  taken  possession  of  the  cottage,  Isabel  settled  a 
small  bill  presented  to  her  by  a  Shylock  to  whom  her 
brother  was  indebted.  This  soon  got  wind,  and  in 
the  course  of  the  day  nearly  every  debt  he  had  in- 
curred, with  interest  added,  was  presented  for  settle- 
ment to  the  "  rich  young  Miss."  What  could  poor 
Isabel  do?  Her  only  resources  were  from  her  father, 
who  limited  them.  She  finally  rid  herself  of  the  flock 
of  greedy  cormorants,  by  promising  on  her  return,  to 
state  her  brother's  circumstances,  and  their  claims,  to 
her  father,  and  take  measures  for  satisfying  them. 
This  had  the  effect  of  a  temporary  cessation  of  hos- 
tilities, and  Edward,  when  he  went  into  the  village 


THE  STUDENT.  203 

Street,  which  he  had  so  long  shunned,  was  accosted 
as  if  he  were  a  fellow  being,  instead  of  being  pointed 
at  with  the  finger  of  rudeness  and  contempt,  or  dunned 
and  insulted. 

Isabel  had  been  nearly  two  weeks  with  her  sister, 
whose  health  and  spirits  daily  improved,  when  ono 
morning  Edward,  once  more  wearing  a  cheerful  coun- 
tenance, brought  her  a  letter  from  the  post  office.  It 
was  from  her  father,  who  was  confined  to  his  bed  by 
the  gout,  and  earnestly  requested,  or  rather  command- 
ed, her  immediate  return.  She  entered  Charlotte's 
room  to  communicate  its  contents,  and  found  her  in 
tears,  her  eyes  wild,  and  her  whole  manner  expres- 
sive of  the  intensest  alarm.  "  Dearest  Charlotte,  what 
has  distressed  you?''  she  exclaimed  throwing  her 
arms  about  her  neck. 

Charlotte,  nervous  from  the  state  of  her  health,  and 
sensitive  as  the  delicate  plant  that  shrinks  from  the 
touch,  wept  for  a  moment  upon  her  sister's  neck  be- 
fore she  spoke.  ^' Oh,  Isabel!  such  a  dream!  God 
grant  it  may  never  be  reality!" 

"  Only  a  dream,  Charlotte!  Why  should  a  foolish 
dream  so  distress  you?" 

"Oh,  that  it  were  only  a  dream,  sister — but  it  was 
a  vision — so  vivid — so  real!  And  yet  I  thought  I 
was  dead,  too." 

*•  Dead!  dearest  Charlotte!  Now  banish  such  idle 
fancies  from  your  head.  You  are  a  little  nervous,  and 
imagination  magnifies  trifles.  Lie  down,  and  I  will 
finish  the  tale  of  Eloise  and  Abelard." 

"  No,  no,  Isabel,"  replied  the  invalid,  grasping  her 
sister's  hand  and  looking  very  serious — "  I  must  tell 
you  my  dream,  for  it  weighs  heavy  upon  my  mind. 
Sit  by  my  pillow,  Isabel — nay,  do  not  smile,  dear  sis- 
ter— there  is  something  prophetic  in  what  I  have  had 
revealed.  Poor  dear  Edward!  has  he  not  real  trials 
enough,  that  even  dreams  should  arm  themselves 
against  him?" 


204  THE  AMERICAN  LOUXGER. 

Charlotte's  voice  and  manner  were  very  solemn 
and  impressive,  and  it  was  with  feelings  allied  to  su- 
perstition that  Isabel  took  her  sister's  hand  within  her 
own,  and  placed  herself  by  her  pillow. 

"  After  Edward  rose,"  said  Charlotte,  shuddering 
at  the  recollection  of  what  she  was  about  to  relate, 
"  I  slept  and  dreamed  that  I  was  dead — that  I  had 
died  by  night  in  my  bed,  and  that  Edward  was  ar- 
rested as  my  murderer.  I  thought  I  saw  him  tried, 
condemned  and  borne  to  the  gallows!  I  beheld  the 
rope  placed  about  his  neck,  and  saw  the  clergyman 
leave  him!  The  drop  was  just  about  to  fall  when  you 
entered  and  awoke  me.  Oh,  God!  how  vividly  real 
it  all  is!*'  she  said,  pressing  her  fingers  upon  her  eyes 
as  if  she  would  shut  out  some  appalling  vision,  while 
her  whole  frame  shook  with  intense  agitation.  Isabel 
vras  not  unmoved,  yet  tried  every  means  to  soothe 
her  sister,  and  divert  her  thoughts,  in  vain.  But  Char- 
lotte was  not  to  be  turned  from  the  subject.  "  Sister," 
she  said,  ^' I  feel  your  kindness,  but  you  exert  it  in 
vain.  You  may  think  me  foolish — but  I  must  make 
one  request  of  you.  This  ring,"  she  continued,  with 
increasing  solemnity,  taking  the  agate  locket  from  her 
finger,  "  was  a  gift  from  me  to  Edward,  in  happier 
days.  Write  the  particulars  of  my  dream,  the  date 
and  circumstances,  on  a  piece  of  tissue  paper,  enclose 
it  in  the  locket,  and  drive  to  Judge  Ellice's  and  place 
it  on  his  finger,  telling  him  that  I  desire  him  not  to 
remove  it  imtil  you  or  I  ask  him  for  it.  This  request 
may  appear  foolish  to  you,  Isabel,  but  I  entreat  you 
to  comply  with  it,  as  my  last  and  dying  request." 

Isabel  was  awed  by  the  solemn  earnestness  of  her 
manner,  and  promised  to  obey.  Charlotte  smiled  and 
kissed  her  affectionately,  and  her  face  once  more  as- 
sumed a  cheerfulness  to  which  it  had  long  been  a 
stranger.  Isabel  religiously  fulfilled  her  promise.  She 
drove  that  morning  to  Judge  Ellice's  mansion,  nine 
miles  distant,  in  the  country.  The  Judge  had  formerly 


THE  STUDENT.  205 

been  a  frequent  visiter  at  Laurel  Hill,  and  received 
the  daughter  of  his  friend,  Colonel  Willis,  with  cordial 
hospitality,  and  accepted  the  bequest  of  her  sister,  al- 
though surprised  at  its  singularity,  and  promised  not 
to  remove  it  from  his  finger  until  requested  to  do  so 
by  one  of  them.  Isabel  did  not  make  him  acquainted 
with  the  contents  of  tlie  locket,  nor  indeed  that  the 
ring  contained  a  concealed  spring. 

"  I  regret  I  did  know  your  sister  was  residing  so 
near  me,  my  dear  ]Miss  Willis,"  he  said,  as  he  attended 
Isabel  to  her  carriage;  "  it  is  strange  she  should  not 
have  let  me  know  it.  Good  morning — I  will  keep 
the  ring  safe — for  my  head  is  rather  freely  sprinkled 
with  snow,  for  me  to  hope  for  a  repetition  of  such  a 
gift  from  fair  hands.  'Tis  odd  enough,"  he  said  to 
himself,  as  the  carriage  drove  down  the  avenue,  "  but 
ladies  at  times  will  have  strange  whims  in  their 
heads." 

The  ensuing  morning,  Isabel  left  her  sister,  appa- 
rently much  improved  in  healtfi  and  spirits,  and  trav- 
elling rapidly  homewards,  arrived  at  Laurel  Hill  on 
the  evening  of  the  third  day,  and  found  Colonel  Willis 
lying  dangerously  ill.  Her  presence  and  kind  nursing 
contributed,  at  first,  to  his  convalescence;  but  the  pro- 
mise of  returning  health  was  delusive.  In  a  few  days 
after  her  return,  he  became  so  much  worse,  that  he 
made  his  will  in  favor  of  Isabel,  to  which,  a  few  hours 
before  he  expired,  he  voluntarily  added  a  codicil,  in 
which  he  bequeathed  "  to  the  child  or  children  of  Ed- 
ward and  Charlotte  Carrington,  the  sum  of  ten  thou- 
sand dollars,  to  be  placed  in  bank  for  their  use,  the  in- 
terest of  which,  until  the  children  were  of  age,  to  be 
drawn  quarterly  by  Edward  and  Charlotte  Carrington, 
for  their  own  proper  use."  It  further  stated,  that  in 
case  the  child  or  children  should  die  before  they  were 
of  age,  then  the  principal  should  be  vested  in  Charlotte 
Carrington,  wife  of  Edward  Carrington,  in  her  own 
right,  but  at  her  death,  without  further  issue,  the  said 
18 


206  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

Edward  Carrington  should  become  sole  heir  to  the 
bequest."  The  testator  also  expressed  his  entire  for- 
giveness of  Charlotte,  and  shortly  after  expired. 
Death,  with  his  icy  fingers  upon  the  heart,  is  a  won- 
derful humanizer!  The  approach  of  death  had  sof- 
tened Colonel  Willis's  heart.  When  men  feel  that 
they  are  soon  to  appear  before  the  bar  of  God  as 
pleaders  for  pardon  and  mercy  for  themselves,  they 
then  willingly  forgive,  as  they  hope  to  be  forgiven  I 

After  the  funeral  ceremonies  were  over,  some  days 
were  consumed  by  the  executors  in  fulfilling  the  will 
of  the  deceased.  They  immediately  wrote  to  Edward, 
informing  him  of  the  bequest  in  his  favor.  It  was, 
however,  necessary  for  three  months  to  elapse  before, 
by  the  accumulation  of  interest,  he  could  derive  any 
benefit  from  it.  Isabel,  after  the  first  deep  passion  of 
filial  grief  had  moderated,  determined  to  invite  her 
brother  and  sister  to  make  Laurel  Hill  their  future 
home.  Circumstances  prevented  her  writing  for  this 
purpose,  until  three  weeks  after  her  father's  death. 
She  had  just  completed  a  letter  on  the  subject  to  Ed- 
ward, when  Dr.  JMorton,  one  of  the  Executors  of  Colo- 
nel Willis,  unannounced,  entered  the  library  where  she 
was  writing,  and  said  hastily,  without  noticing  her 
invitation  to  be  seated,  "  is  not  your  brother-in-law's 
name  Carrington — Edward  Carrington?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  repUed  Isabel,  agitated  and  foreboding 
evil. 

"  A  school  teacher,  or  has  been  such?"  he  continued, 
drawing  a  country  newspaper  from  his  pocket,  and 
loking  steadfastly  at  a  paragraph,  "  God  forbid  that  it 
should  be  him!  Read  M«/,  my  poor  girl!"  he  said 
with  emotion,  giving  her  the  newspaper,  and  pointing 
to  a  paragraph  headed  "  Unparalleled  Murder."  Isabel 
grasped  the  paper  convulsively,  and  read  with  a  pale 
cheek  and  glazed  eye,  the  following  characteristic 
newspaper  notice  to  its  close. 

"  One  of  the  most  cold-blooded,  deliberate,  and  atro- 


THE   STUDENT.  207 

cious  murders,  it  has  ever  been  our  province  to  record, 
was  perpetrated  on  the  night  of  the  10th  instant,  in 
the  neighboring  village  of  Covington.  The  victim, 
was  a  lovely  woman,  the  daughter  of  a  distinguished 
planter  of  this  state,  but  recently  deceased — the  crimi- 
nal, her  own  husband,  late  a  school-teacher  in  that 
place.  It  appears,  that  by  a  long  course  of  dissipation 
and  idleness,  he  had  squandered  away  both  his  own 
fortune  and  hers,  which  was  large,  and  has  for  some 
months  past  been  notorious  in  that  village,  as  a  worth- 
less fellow — although  a  man  of  education  and  supe- 
rior talents — deeply  in  debt,  and  altogether  unworthy 
of  confidence.  For  one  or  two  highway  robberies, 
committed  in  the  vicinity  of  his  dwelling,  he  has  been 
before  arrested,  but  for  vv'ant  of  sufficient  evidence  he 
was  acquitted.  While,  from  his  occasionally  having 
sums  of  money  in  his  possession,  which  he  had  no  os- 
tensible means  of  coming  honestly  by,  the  presumption 
is,  that  he  is  an  old  offender.  The  present  crime,  how- 
ever, leaves  all  others  behind,  and  what  adds  to  its 
atrocity,  is,  it  appears  from  subsequent  information, 

that  his  wife's  father,  the  late  Colonel  W ,  who 

had  disinherited  her  for  making  such  an  imprudent 
match,  in  his  will  bequeathed  her  and  her  husband 
the  interest  of  twenty  thousand  dollars,  the  principal 
being  placed  in  bank,  until  the  child,  of  which  the  lady 
was  then  enceinte,  should  become  of  age.  But  if  the 
child  should  not  live  to  that  period,  the  principal  was 
vested  in  the  mother,  secure  from  the  husband's  con- 
trol, and  in  case  of  her  death,  without  further  issue, 
the  husband  himself  was  to  become  sole  inheritor  of 
this  noble  bequest.  This  was  a  will  too  favorable  to 
an  unprincipled  man,  to  be  suffered  to  go  unimproved 
for  his  immediate  personal  benefit.  On  Tuesday 
morning  last,  therefore,  when  the  lady's  confinement 
was  daily  expected,  she  was  found  dead  in  her  bed! 
Suspicion  was  immediately  directed  to  the  husband, 
which  his  character  and  the  circumstances  strength- 


208  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

ened.  He  was  seized  by  the  infuriated  villagers,  and 
carried  before  a  magistrate,  who  committed  him  to 
prison,  where  he  now  lies  awaiting  his  trial,  which 
will  take  place  next  Monday,  the  court  being  noAV  in 
session.  The  name  of  the  murderer  is  Edward  Car- 
rington.^' 

Isabel,  by  a  supernatural  effort,  read  the  paragraph 
through,  and  then  fell  lifeless  to  the  floor.  For  nearly 
four  weeks  she  was  confined  to  her  bed,  a  maniac. 
When  she  recovered  her  reason,  her  first  act  was  to 
order  her  carriage,  command  the  attention  of  Doctor 
Morton,  and  proceed  with  all  speed  to  Covington. 


THE    STUDENT 


PART  IV. 


1S» 


THE    S  T  U  I)  E  iN  T  . 


PART  IV. 


We  will  retani  to  the  humble  cottage  occupied  by- 
Edward  and  Charlotte,  and  present  to  the  reader  the 
lovely  scene  it  exhibited  one  evening  about  three 
weeks  after  Isabel's  departure,  and  a  few  days  after 
they  had  learned  of  Colonel  Willis's  death  and  bequest. 
Edward's  religious  feelings  had  returned  in  their  full 
power,  whh  his  improved  circumstances  and  more 
softened  feelings — but  he  first  past  through  a  peniten- 
tial ordeal  of  agonising  and  mental  suffering.  He  was 
seated  by  her  bedside,  reading  the  twenty-fifth  psalm, 
selected  as  being  peculiarly  appropriated  to  his  present 
circumstances.  Charlotte  lay  with  her  hands  clasped 
in  his,  listening  to  the  sublime  language  of  inspiration, 
lier  eyes  lifted  prayerfully,  or  now  turned  fondly,  and 
beaming  with  happiness,  upon  him.  Her  face  was 
very  pale,  and  illness  liad  given  her  features  the  deli- 
cacy of  chiselling.  Occasionally,  she  would  draw  a 
long  breath  as  if  in  pain,  but  not  a  murmur  of  impa- 
tience escaped  her  lips.  Edward,  at  length,  reverently 
closed  the  book,  and  kneeled  by  the  couch  of  the  in- 
valid, and  'addressed  the  throne  of  grace,  his  counte- 
nance as  he  proceeded,  becoming  eloquent  with  sorrow, 


212  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

love,  gratitude,  and  devotion;  his  words  burned,  and 
his  language  was  impressive  for  its  fervor  and  strength, 
and  for  its  unaffected  humility,  such  as  became  a  re- 
turning wanderer  to  the  fold,  from  which  he  had  so 
long  strayed.  Affliction  softens  or  hardens  the  human 
heart — it  either  leads  man  to  cast  himself  humbly 
upon  the  mercy  of  the  chaslener,  or  to  murmur  against 
his  dispensations  and  accuse  him  of  injustice.  In  the 
Christian,  their  dispositories  are  more  remarkable,  and 
elevate  his  spirited  character,  or  steel  him  to  insensi- 
bility. The  Christian  who  cannot  profit  by  chastise- 
ments, is  the  most  deplorably  wretched  of  all  men. 
Edward  Carrington,  during  the  height  of  his  temporal 
wretchedness  was  one  of  these.  But  he  had  now 
learned  to  bless  the  hand  that  chastened  him. 

Rising  from  his  evening  devotions,  he  kissed  Char- 
lotte's blue-veined  temples  and  retired. 

In  the  morning  Edward  awoke  to  find  Charlotte 
cold  and  dead  beside  him,  buried  in  that  sleep  that 
"  knows  no  waking.'^  She  was  indeed  dead  and 
lovely  even  in  death! 

The  first  sensation  Edward  experienced,  was  that 
of  horror.  The  next,  when  the  awful  conviction  of 
the  dreadful  reality  pressed  upon  his  senses — of  un- 
bounded grief  We  will  briefly  pass  over  the  scenes 
that  followed  the  publicity  of  that  event.  Edward's 
creditors  had  waited  several  days  after  Isabel's  depar- 
ture, but  hearing  nothing  further  from  her,  they  again 
became  more  clamorous  than  ever,  and  Edward  again 
found  himself  the  object  of  suspicion,  hatred  and  con- 
tempt. During  the  brief  suspension  of  their  siege, 
which  Isabel's  influence  had  effected,  his  creditors 
seemed  to  have  gathered  fresh  vigor. — There  are  some 
men  of  naturally  tyrannical  dispositions,  and  who  love 
the  exercise  of  power  if  their  dog  is  only  the  object, 
who,  when  they  have  a  debtor  in  their  power,  love  to 
make  him  feel  it,  and  the  more  worthy  the  individual, 
the  higher  he  is  above  them  in  the  moral  or  social  scale, 


THE  STUDENT. 


213 


the  more  tyrannical  they  are  in  using  the  power  with 
which  the  misfortunes  of  a  fellow  being  may  have 
given  them.  Of  this  character  were  the  majority  of 
Edward's  creditors,  and  we  regret  to  state,  that  he 
found  no  difterence  between  those  of  them  who  pro- 
fessed religion,  and  were  members  of  the  church,  and 
those  who  made  no  profession;  indeed  in  one  instance, 
his  bitterest  persecution  was  from  an  elder  who  had 
sold  him,  from  his  store,  certain  articles  of  clothing. 
The  feelings  of  the  prejudiced  community  of  the  vil- 
lage, therefore,  were  easily  aroused  against  so  ripe  a 
victim.  Edward  was  seized  by  the  infuriated  mob, 
and  borne  to  the  office  of  the  magistrate,  who,  as  he 
beheld  him,  humanely  said,^'  I  prophecied  you'd  come 
to  the  gallows,  young  sir!"  Lynching,  that  praise- 
worthy substitute  for  trial  by  jury,  and  which  leaves 
the  magna  charta  in  the  shade,  was  not  then  in  vogue, 
or  our  tale  would  soon  end.  He  was  fully  committed 
for  trial.  Alas,  how  fatal  to  be  poor  and  friendless! 
How  criminal  to  be  in  debt!  If  a  wealthy  individual 
had  awoke  in  the  morning  and  found  his  wife  a  corpse 
by  his  side,  he  would  have  been  permitted  to  follow 
her  in  peace  to  the  grave.  Charlotte  was  buried  by 
strangers,  who,  slandering  her  while  living,  commis- 
erated her,  dead!  She  was  lowered  in  her  lonely 
grave,  at  the  moment  that  Edward,  overwhelmed  by 
the  accumulation  of  his  sorrows,  cast  himself  upon 
the  floor  of  his  dungeon  in  sleepless  despair. 

The  day  of  trial  came.  Public  excitement  was  im- 
mense— its  prejudices  strongly  against  the  prisoner. 
Edward  had  fortified  his  soul  with  prayer,  and  bowed 
with  resignation  to  the  divine  will.  He  was  happy! 
for  he  soon  expected  to  rejoin  Charlotte  in  heaven! 
The  judge,  and  the  officers  of  the  court  assisting  him 
in  his  solemn  duties,  had  taken  their  usual  places  upon 
the  bench,  the  court  was  opened,  and  the  Attorney  Gen- 
eral announced  in  the  customary  manner  to  the  court 
that  he  was  ready  to  proceed  with  the  trial.     After 


214  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

the  jury  were  empannelled,  and  the  usual  prelimina- 
ries of  a  trial  were  completed,  there  was  a  simultane- 
ous movement  of  heads  throughout  the  thronged  court, 
and  "  The  prisoner — the  prisoner!"  was  repeated  in  a 
hundred  whispers. 

Edward  entered  the  court  with  a  firm  step  and  col- 
lected manner;  his  face  was  very  pale,  but  its  expres- 
sion was  that  of  settled  resignation.  As  he  entered, 
he  cast  his  eye  over  the  pavement  of  human  heads, 
and  as  a  thousand  curious  eyes  encountered  his  own, 
his  cheek  glowed,  and  dropping  his  eye  lids,  he  raised 
them  afterwards  only  to  his  counsel,  the  jury,  or  the 
bench.  The  clerk  rising,  informed  him  of  his  right  to 
a  peremptory  challenge  of  the  jury;  and  although  he 
observed  three  or  four  of  his  most  unrelenting  credit- 
ors among  them  he  remained  silent.  The  prisoner 
having  already  been  indicted,  the  indictment  was  read 
to  the  jury,  the  cause  was  opened,  and  the  trial  pro- 
ceeded. The  details  of  the  trial  can  only  be  very 
briefly  noticed.  The  circumstantial  evidence  was  so 
conclusive,  combined  with  "  the  well-known  charac- 
ter of  the  prisoner,"  that  the  testimony  on  both  sides 
closed.  The  judge  then  charged  the  jury,  recapitulat- 
ing the  most  important  features  of  the  testimony,  and 
explaining  at  some  length,  the  law  for  their  guidance 
on  so  solemn  an  occasion.  He  finally  charged  them, 
that  "if  they  entertained  any  doubts  as  to  the  guilt  of 
the  prisoner,  they  should  be  thrown  in  the  scale  for 
his  benefit,  and  they  would  be  bound  to  acquit  him: 
but,  if  they  had  no  doubt  of  his  guilt,  it  was  their 
duty  to  find  him  guilty." 

After  an  absence  of  ten  minutes,  the  jury  returned 
into  court  with  a  verdict  of  "  Guilty." 


THE    STUDENT 


PART  V. 


THE    STUDENT. 


PART  V. 


The  morning  of  Edward's  execution  arrived,  and 
the  sun  shone  brightly  through  the  bars  of  his  cell. 
A  clergyman,  his  friend  the  IVlethodist  minister,  who 
had  been  the  past  year  on  a  distant  circuit,  and  hear- 
ing of  Edward's  fate,  hastened  to  give  him  spiritual 
consolation,  was  seated  beside  him.  Edward's  face 
Avas  as  placid  as  a  child's.  His  pulse  throbbed  evenly, 
and  his  whole  manner  was  composed,  for  Edward  was 
prepared  to  die !  The  clergyman  who  came  to  admin- 
ister hope  and  consolation,  in  his  last  hours,  felt  that 
he  could  sit  at  his  feet,  and  learn  of  him! 

The  turning  of  keys,  and  the  grating  of  bolts,  at 
length  disturbed  their  heavenly  communion.  The 
chaplain,  in  tears  pressed  Edward's  hand,  as  the  cell 
door  opened  and  the  officer  of  justice  entered.  Polite- 
ly accosting  the  prisoner,  he  said  witli  a  faltering  voice, 
"  I  am  ready  to  attend  you,  jNlr.  Carrington.'' 

Edward  heard   the   summons   without   any  other 

emotion  than   a  heightened  color  and  slight  tremor 

of  the   lip.      This    Tribute    due   to    nature,    passed, 

and  all  was  again  serenity  and  peace.     Taking  the 

19 


218  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

arm  of  the  sheriff,  he  was  conducted  by  him  to  a  car- 
riage in  waiting  at  the  door.  The  clergyman  and 
Judge  Ellice,  who  had  manifested  a  deep  interest  in 
the  prisoner,  accompanied  them  in  the  carriage.  They 
then  slowly  moved  through  the  dense  multitude  to- 
wards the  gallows,  which  was  erected  on  a  common 
near  the  town.  The  prisoner  descended  from  the  car- 
riage, and  leaning  upon  the  sheriff  and  chaplain, 
walked  with  a  firm  step  to  the  foot  of  the  scaffold, 
which  he  ascended  unsupported.  His  head  was  bared, 
his  neck-cloth  removed,  and  his  collar  turned  back 
from  his  neck.  His  youthful  appearance  and  resign- 
ed air,  created  in  his  favor  a  general  sensation  of  sym- 
pathy. After  the  chaplain  had  addressed  the  throne 
of  grace,  and  embraced  him,  Edward,  by  the  direction 
of  the  sheriff,  placed  himself  upon  the  "  drop."  He 
then  cast  his  eyes  over  the  blue  heavens,  the  green 
earth,  the  vast  multitude,  as  if  he  were  bidding  adieu 
to  all,  then  exchanging  last  adieus  with  the  judge,  the 
chaplain,  and  the  sheriff,  he  raised  his  eyes,  and  gazed 
steadfastly  up  to  heaven,  as  if  he  had  bid  farewell 
to  all  earthly  scenes. 

The  sheriff  was  adjusting  the  fatal  knot  with  pro- 
fessional dexterity,  when  a  loud  shriek  mingled  with 
the  shouting  of  men's  voices,  and  the  rattling  of  dis- 
tant wheels,  broke  the  awful  silence  reigning  over  the 
dense  multitude,  and  drew  the  eyes  of  every  one  from 
the  scaffold  towards  the  southern  extremity  of  the  com- 
mon, over  which,  in  the  direction  of  the  place  of  exe- 
cution, a  carriage  was  whirled  with  the  speed  of  the 
wind.  Out  of  one  of  the  windows  leaned  a  young 
lady,  waving  a  handkerchief,  and  uttering  shriek  on 
shriek,  while  a  gentleman  on  the  coach-box  wildly 
waved  his  hat,  and  added  his  voice  to  hers,  "  Stop! 
stop!  Hold!  for  mercy  hold!  He  is  innocent!  Hold!" 
The  next  moment  the  carriage  dashed  into  the  crowd, 
which  retired  on  all  sides  in  confusion  at  its  reckless 
approach.     It  drew  up  suddenly,  within  a  few  feet  of 


THE  STUDENT.  219 

the  gallows,  when  Isabel  sprung  out,  and  fell  senseless 
into  the  arms  of  Judge  Ellice,  who  had  recognised,  and 
flown  to  open  the  door  for  her. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Mr.  Sheriff,  stay  the  execution 
for  a  moment!  There  is  certain  proof  of  this  young 
gentleman's  innocence,"  cried  Dr.  JMorton,  springing 
from  the  coach-box  to  the  ground. 

The  sheriff  was  a  man  of  humanity:  and  as  there 
were  yet  several  minutes  to  expire  before  the  time 
would  elapse  for  his  prisoner's  execution,  he  waited 
in  surprise  the  result  of  this  extraordinary  interrup- 
tion. 

In  a  few  minutes  Isabel  revived,  and  gazmg  round 
upon  the  fearful  apparatus  of  death,  cried,  with  a 
shudder,  as  she  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  "  He 
is  innocent!  Oh  God,  he  is  innocent!  The  ring!  the 
ring!  Oh,  bring  me  to  Judge  Ellice!" 

"He  is  here!  by  your  side,  Miss  Willis,"  said  the 
judge,  with  sympathy. 

She  looked  up  into  his  face  steadily  for  a  moment, 
as  if  not  fully  recognising  him,  and  then  exclaimed 
with  Ihrilling  energy,  "  Yes!  it  is  you — you  I  want! 
Oh  give  me  the  ring!"  and  seeing  it  upon  his  finger, 
as  he  hastily  drew  off  his  glove,  she  seized  it  and  tore 
it  from  his  finger,  touched  the  concealed  spring,  and 
tremblingly  drew  forth  the  concealed  paper,  which  she 
herself  had  placed  there,  and  faintly  articulating, 
"Read!~read!"  again  fainted  away.  Judge  Ellice 
unfolded  the  paper  and  read  its  contents,  with  which 
the  reader  is  already  acquainted,  in  speechless  amaze- 
ment. The  next  moment  springing  upon  the  scaffold, 
he  placed  it  in  the  hands  of  the  sheriff,  briefly  explain- 
ed the  manner  in  which  he  had  received  the  ring. 
This  gentleman  read  it  with  no  less  surprise,  and  as 
he  finished  it,  he  threw  the  rope  from  his  hand,  ex- 
claiming, "He  is  innocent!" 

"There  is  no  doubt  of  it,"  said  the  judge;  "  what 
a  wonderful  interposition  of  Providence!" 


220  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

They  both  embraced  the  prisoner,  expressing  their 
firm  beUef  in  his  innocence.  The  multitude  shouted, 
"A  pardon!— a  pardon!'^  though  subsequently  the 
facts  were  made  public. 

The  sheriff,  on  his  own  responsibility,  suspended  the 
execution,  and  Edward  was  reconveyed  to  prison,  to 
await  a  pardon  from  the  governor,  to  whom  commu- 
nicating all  the  particulars,  both  the  judge  and  sheriff 
immediately  wrote.  The  judge  informing  him  that 
he  was  wholly  ignorant  that  the  ring  was  a  locket — 
that  it  had  never  been  removed  from  his  finger  from 
the  moment  it  was  placed  there  by  Miss  Willis,  by  the 
direction  of  the  deceased  Mrs.  Carrington — and  that 
the  ring  was  on  his  finger  four  weeks  before  her  sup- 
posed murder.  "  I  confess,"  he  concluded,  "that  there 
are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth,  than  are  dream- 
ed of  in  my  philosophy.  So  remarkable  an  interpo- 
sition of  Divine  Providence,  to  term  it  nothing  else, 
should  not,  by  short-sighted  mortals,  be  treated  with 
neglect.  In  such  cases  it  becomes  us  to  wonder  and 
obey." 

The  governor  granted  Edward  a  reprieve  for  a 
second  trial,  or  a  full  pardon,  as  he  chose.  He  accept- 
ed the  pardon,  and  was  conveyed  in  Isabel's  carriage 
to  Laurel  Hill.  Pie  lingered  here  a  few  weeks,  and 
then  his  spirit  departed  to  join  that  of  his  beloved 
Charlotte,  in  that  world  where  there  is  neither  sorrow 
nor  sighing,  and  where  all  tears  shall  be  wiped  away 
from  our  eyes. 


SPHEEKSPHOBIA; 

OR,  THE 

ADVENTURES  OF  ABEL  STINGFLIER,  A.M. 
A  TRAGIC  TALE. 


19^ 


SPHEEKSPHOBIA. 


A  hundred  mouths,  a  hundred  longuep, 
A  throat  of  brass  inspired  with  iron  lungs. 

Dryde.n. 

One  sultry  summer  afternoon,  in  eighteen  hundred 
and  thirty-five,  I  was  riding  with  my  umbrella  held 
perpendicularly  above  m^^  head,  and  at  an  easy  amble 
— for  the  sun  was  fiery  hot,  and  I  had  travelled  far — 
through  the  principal  street  of  Port  Gibson,  one  of  the 
pleasantest  villages  in  the  state  of  ^Mississippi.  As  I 
was  about  to  cross  a  long  and  venerable  looking 
bridge,  on  the  northern  outskirts  of  the  town,  I  was 
startled  by  aloud  and  prolonged  outcry  behind  me,  as 
if  its  utterer  was  in  imminent  peril  and  great  bodily 
fear.  I  turned  my  head,  at  the  same  time  reining  up,  and 
beheld  a  strange  figure  swiftly  approaching  me,  send- 
ing forth  at  the  same  time  the  most  lamentable  cries, 
the  last  still  louder  than  the  preceding.  But  his  voice 
did  not  so  much  surprise  me,  as  the  eccentricity  of  his 
locomotion  and  the  oddity  of  his  appearance.  He  was 
a  tall  and  gaunt  man,  without  hat  or  shoes,  and  a  ca- 
lico scholar's  gown  streamed  behind  him  in  the  wind, 


224  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

created  by  his  rapid  motion.     His  advance  was  not 
direct,  but  zig-zag:  now  he  would  dart  with  velocity 
to  the  right,  and  now  as  swiftly  to  the  left,  anon  plung- 
ing under  the  bushes  lining  the  road-side,  and  then 
diving  down,  and  scrambling  on  all-fours  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  road,  kicking  his  heels  into  the  air,  and  toss- 
ing the  dust  about  him  in  clouds,  so  as  to  render  him 
for  the  time  invisible:  he  would  then  rise  again  with 
a  fearful  yell,  and  bolt  forward  in  a  right  line,  as  if 
charging  at  me,  filling  the  air  with  his  cries  all  the 
while,  and  waving  his  arms  wildly  above  his  head, 
which  at  intervals  received  blows  from  his  desperate 
fists,  each  one  sufficient  to  fell  an  ox.     I  gazed  in  ad- 
miration on  this  singular  spectacle,  it  may  be,  not  witli- 
out  some  misgivings  of  personal  damage,  to  qualify 
which,  in  some  degree,  I  turned  the  head  of  my  horse, 
so  as  to  interpose  it  between  my  person  and  the 
threatened  danger.     Onward  he  came,  enveloped  in  a 
cloud    of   dust,    and   the  best  speed     human    legs 
could  bestow;  and  disdaining  to  fly,   I  prepared  to 
meet  the  charge  as  firmly  as  the  valiant  knight  of  La 
Mancha  would  have  done  in  the  same  circumstances. 
My  steed,  however,  showed  the  better  part  of  valor, 
and,  notwithstanding  much  coaxing  and  soothing,  be- 
gan to  wax  skittish,  and  as  the  danger  grew  more  im- 
minent, he  suddenly  made  a  demi-volte  across  the 
bridge,  and  turned  broadside  to  the  enemy,  which  was 
close  aboard  of  us,  thereby  effectually  blockading  the 
highway.     Hardly  had  he  effected  this  change  in  his 
position,  before  the  madman  or  apparition,  for  I  deem- 
ed it  to  be  one  or  the  other,  coming  in  "  such  a  question- 
able shape,"  instead  of  leaping  upon  me  like  a  hyena, 
as  I  anticipated,  drove,  and  with  a  mortal  yell  passed 
clean  under  my  horse's  belly,  and,  before  he  could  di- 
minish his  momentum,  disappeared  over  the  parapet- 
less  bridge  into  the  river  beneath.     On  hearing  the 
plunge  I  alighted  from  my  horse,  who  was  not  a  little 
terrified  at  the  unceremonious  use  the  strange  being 


SPHEEKSPnOBIA.  225 

had  made  of  his  body,  hastily  descended  ihe  precipi- 
tous bauk  of  the  stream,  and  as  the  diver  rose  to  tiie 
surface,  which  he  did  after  a  brief  immersion,  a  few 
yards  below  the  bridge,  seizing  him  by  the  skirts  of  his 
long  gown,  I  dragged  him  pn  shore.  Gathering  him- 
self up  slowly,  he  at  length,  after  much  spluttering  and 
blowing,  and  catching  of  his  breath,  stood  upright  on 
his  legs;  then  grasping  my  hand  by  dint  of  a  great 
deal  of  gulping  and  sobbing — for  the  poor  man  could 
barely  articulate  for  want  of  wind — he  essayed  to  ex- 
press his  thanks  for  my  timely  aid,  without  which,  he 
asseverated,  he  should  assuredly  ''  have  died  in  the 
flood  of  great  waters  which  passed  over  his  soul:  but 
that  he  had  been  saved  from  the  great  deep,  and  also 
from  the  barbed  arrow  of  the  pursuer,  from  which  lat- 
ter danger,  by  the  help  of  the  Lord  and  ray  horse,  and 
peradventure  through  his  sudden  ablution,  he  had  mar- 
vellously been  delivered." 

The  speaker  was  a  tall,  spare  man,  with  thin  flanks, 
broad  shoulders,  and  high  cheek  bones,  having  a  Scot- 
tish physiognomy,  with  an  homely  expression  of  Yan- 
kee shrewdne^  and  intelligence.  His  long,  sharp  nose, 
flanked  by  hollow  cheeks,  his  peaked  chin,  and  lantern 
jaws,  made  up  a  configuration,  which  has  not  been  in- 
aptly been  denominated  a  "  hatchet  face.'^  His  mouth 
was  of  formidable  width,  garnished  with  very  firm, 
white  teeth,  generously  displayed  by  the  flexibility  of 
his  loose  lips,  which,  whenever  he  spoke,  retired  as  it 
were  from  before  them.  His  eyes  were  of  a  pale 
blue  color,  round  and  prominent,  "hereby  promising,  to 
speak  phrenologically,  the  organ  of  language  large, 
which  promise  his  lingual  attainments,  as  subsequent- 
ly ascertained  by  me,  did  not  belie.  A  pair  of  red, 
shaggy  brows,  projected  over  them,  like  a  well  wood- 
ed crag;  they  were  rather  darker  than  his  hair,  which, 
if  owned  by  a  lady,  I  should  term  auburn;  but  grow- 
ing as  it  did  on  a  male  pow,  which  for  raggedness  of 
outUne,  might  have  been  hewn  into  its  present  shape 


226  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

with  a  broad-axe,  I  shall  call  it  red^  unqualifiedly.  His 
age  might  have  been  forty;  and  in  his  stockings  as  he 
now  was,  he  stood  no  less  than  six  feet  one  inch  in  height 
— of  which  goodly  length  of  limb  and  body,  a  pair  of 
white  drilling  trowsers,  woollen  short  hose,  a  cotton 
shirt,  with  a  broad  ruffle,  and  his  long  calico  gown 
aforesaid,  constituted  the  only  outward  teguments. 
From  all  points,  including  the  points  of  his  chin  and 
nose,  and  every  available  corner  of  his  strait  and  mat- 
ted hair,  here,  in  continuous  streams — there,  in  large 
drops,  chasing  one  another  in  quick  succession,  the 
water  descended  towards  the  earth  from  the  person  of 
this  dripping  Nereus,  while  the  woful  expression  his 
physiognomy,  which  judging  from  the  combination  of 
features  it  exhibited,  was  naturally  sufficiently  lugu- 
brious, was  now  enhanced  ten-fold.  His  first  act  on 
getting  to  his  feet,  and  after  gazing  wildly  about  in  the 
air,  and  minutely  surveying  his  person,  as  if  in  search 
of  something  which  he  dreaded  to  encounter,  was  to 
grasp  my  hand,  and  gasping  for  breath,  at  intervals 
strive  to  articulate  his  thanks  for  the  service  I  had  ren- 
dered him.  Although  I  could  not  bu^  smile  at  his 
ludicrous  figure  and  aspect,  I  felt  disposed  to  commise- 
rate and  serve  one  whom  I  believed  not  to  be  in  his 
right  mind,  in  which  opinion  I  was  confirmed  when 
he  alluded  to  an  '-  armed  pursuer,"  whom  he  seemed 
every  now  and  then  to  seek  in  the  air,  there  having 
been  none  yet  visible  to  my  eyes. 

At  my  suggestion,  and  with  my  assistance,  he  strip- 
ped ofi"  his  gown,  and  by  dint  of  twisting  it  into  a  sort 
of  a  rope — a  process  well  understood  by  the  washer- 
woman— we  expelled  the  water,  visibly  to  the  com- 
fort of  its  unfortunate  owner,  who  thrust  his  lengthy 
arms  into  its  sleeves  again,  with  an  ejaculation  or  grunt 
of  satisfaction.  The  once  gentleman-like  ruffle,  shorn 
of  its  honors  of  starch  and  plaiting,  hung  saturated 
and  melancholy  upon  his  broad  breast:  this  we  saw 
was  a  damage  irremediable:  and  altogether  passing 


SPHEEKSPHOBIA.  227 

the  shirt  by,  and  also  his  nether  tegument,  which  ad- 
hered to  the  cuticle  hke  asuper-liide,  the  aqueous  gen- 
tleman gravely  and  silently  seated  himself  upon  the 
bank,  and  pulled  off  his  short  hose  (whose  brevity,  it 
should  have  been  before  remarked,  in  conjunction  with 
the  brevity  of  his  pantaloons,  left  at  all  times  an  inch 
of  his  brawny  shins  visible  in  the  interstices,)  and  hav- 
ing rung  them  vigorously,  drew  them  on  again  with 
much  labor,  ejaculating  at  intervals,  ^'^/c  labor  est, 
hie  labor  est,  (juidem^'^  being  now  shrunk  to  one  third 
of  their  original  size,  before  covering  the  ancle,  where- 
as, now,  only  aspiring  to  that  altitude  with  full  two  in- 
ches of  interval.  Then  rising  and  rubbing  the  water 
out  of  his  tbick  hair,  with  the  skirt  of  his  gown,  he 
addressed  me,  as  I  was  about  to  re-ascend  the  bank  to 
my  horse,  seeing  that  my  Samaritan-like  services  were 
no  longer  in  requisition.  His  face  was  now  dry,  and 
he  had  recovered  both  his  voice  and  self-possession — 
and  so  ooUected  was  the  expression  of  his  eyes,  and  so 
sedate  his  demeanor,  that  I  changed  my  opinion  as  to 
his  sanity,  and  believed  that  he  must  have  been  under 
the  influence  of  some  inexplicable  terror,  when  he  ac- 
complished those  gymnics  I  have  described,  which 
were  so  foreign  to  his  present  respectable  appearance 
and  discreet  deportment.  I  therefore  listened  with 
some  curiosity  to  what  he  was  about  to  utter,  antici- 
pating a  strange  Maircissement. 

"  Certes,  my  friend,  I  should  feel  inclinated  to  be 
facetious  at  this  expose,  as  it  may  be  termed,  of  my 
natural  infirmity,  but  I  never  was  more  sorely 
pressed.  Verily,  the  danger  was  imminent  that  beset 
me!  Periissem  ni  periissem:  by  ablution  was  I 
saved  from  greater  detriment.  That  I  should  have 
passed  beneath  the  stomach  of  your  equns,  or  steed, 
is  a  rudeness  that  calleth  for  an  arto?.oyta,  or  apology, 
which  herewith  I  formally  tender,  as  is  befitting  one, 
whose  vocation  lieth  in  instilling  the  himiane  letters 
into  the  minds  of  the  rising  generation.  Verily  I  could 


228  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

laugh  with  thee,  were  I  not  sorely  vexed  that  my 
fears  should  have  betrayed  me  into  such  unseemly 
and  indiscreet  skipping  and  prancing,  like  one  non 
covipos  mentis,  rather  than  grave  senior  and  instructor 
of  youth.  Surely,  experience  hath  long  shown  me, 
that  in  these  flights,  ciirsus  non  est  levare,  which 
being  interpreted,  signifieth — the  swift  of  foot  fleeth 
in  vain.  Reascend  thy  steed,  my  friend,  and  I  will 
accompany  thee  to  yonder  hostelry  or  inn,  where, 
peradventure,  through  the  agency  of  mine  host's 
kitchen  fire,  I  may  restore  my  garments  to  their  pris- 
tine condition,  and  there  will  I  unfold  the  causes  of 
these  effects,  to  which  thou  hast  but  now  borne  wit- 
ness." 

Remounting  my  horse,  the  stranger  gravely  strode 
along  by  the  bridle,  until  we  came  to  the  tavern  he 
had  pointed  out,  when  inviting  me  in,  he  led  the  way' 
into  a  little  parlor  adjoining  the  bar-room,  and  closing 
the  door  behind  him  mysteriously,  he  placed  a  vacant 
chair  for  me  on  one  side  of  a  small  stand,  while  he 
occupied  another  opposite.  After  a  short  and  rather 
awkward  silence,  during  which  he  leaned  his  arms 
upon  the  table,  and  manifested  much  embarrassment, 
while  the  blood  mounted  to  his  forehead,  as  if  he  felt 
that  he  was  about  to  make  a  humiliating  explanation 
— an  inkling  of  humor,  nevertheless,  lurking  the  while 
about  his  mouth  and  in  the  corner  of  his  eye,  as  if  he 
felt  a  disposition  to  smile  at  what  really  gave  him 
pain.  I  therefore  remarked  that,  although  I  felt  a 
certain  degree  of  curiosity  to  learn  the  causes  which 
led  to  his  catastrophe,  I  did  not  wish  him  to  feel  that 
the  circumstances  of  our  meeting  called  in  the  least  for 
the  extension  of  his  confidence  towards  me,  and  that 
if  it  gave  him  pain  to  make  the  explanation  he  had 
vohmteered,  I  should  insist  upon  his  withholding  it; 
and  thus  speaking,  I  rose  to  leave  the  room,  and  pur- 
sue mv  journey. 

"  Of  a  surety,  friend,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  light- 


SPHEEKSPHOBIA.  229 

ly  upon  my  arm,  "  rightly  hast  thou  interpreted  my 
inward  emotions.  It  is  true  I  possess  not  the  moral 
virtus,  or  courage,  needful  to  the  laying  open  of  my 
weakness.  But  thou  shalt  not  be  disappointed;  that 
which  I  have  spoken,  I  will  do;  leave  me  thy  name 
and  place  of  abode,  and  by  course  of  post  I  will  trans- 
mit in  writing  that,  which  from  mains  pudor,  or  fool- 
ish shamefacedness,  I  have  not  the  tongue  to  give  thee 
orally,  and  so  shalt  thou  be  informed  of  the  vis-a- 
tergo,  wliich  is  to  say,  the  rearward  propelling  force, 
which  urged  me  so  discourteously  beneath  your 
steed,  and  into  the  deep  waters;  and  moreover,  of  that 
which  liath  been  the  cause  of  all  my  terrestrial  trials, 
yea,  even  an  arrow  under  my  fifth  rib." 

This  was  uttered  like  his  former  language,  with  a 
nasal  twang,  and  in  a  slow  and  peculiar  manner,  with 
a  distinct  articulation  of  every  syllable,  and  accenting 
the  participial  termination,  ed,  and  tlie  adverbial,  ly, 
with  an  emphatic  drawl. 

Leaving  my  address  with  this  singular  character, 
with  my  curiosity  no  ways  abated,  I  resumed  my 
journey.  Three  Aveeks  afterwards,  I  received  the  fol- 
lowing manuscript,  inclosed  in  a  stout  envelope  of 
brown  paper,  superscribed  in  handsome  and  clear  chi- 
rography,  which  was  evidently  penned  with  elaborate 
care,  and  post  marked  Paid:  besides  the  address  to 
the  superscription  were  appended  the  following  Avords: 
"  Covering  seven  sheets  of  Foolscap,  with  an  Epistle. 
These  ivith  speed  and  carefulness,'''  which  were 
written  in  somewhat  smaller  character  than  the  su- 
perscription, and  near  the  left  hand  corner. 

Omitting  the  writer's  learned  epistle,  addressed  to 
myself  confidentially — slightly  revising  the  style, 
which  Avas  cumbrous,  somewhat  prolix,  and  pedantic, 
and  extracting  about  one-half  of  the  Greek,  Latin,  and 
French  quotaTions  and  phrases,  unsuited  to  the  pre- 
sent prevailing  taste,  whh  which  it  was  interlarded — 
like  the  lemons,  cloves  and  raisins  generously  sprin- 
20 


230  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

kled  through  a  Christmas  pie— I  faithfully  impart  the 
mamiscript  as  I  received  it  from  the  author. 

''  I  am  an  unfortunate  victim  of  Entomology:  not  of 
the  science,  but  of  every  species  of  insect  of  which  the 
science  treateth;  more  especially  the  bee,  wasp,  and 
hornet,  and  all  and  singular  of  the  irritabile  genus, 
besides  the  horn-bug,  dragon-fly,  and  each  and  every 
of  those  loud-humming  insects  that  buzz  about  at 
night — yea  verily  the  whole  tribe  of  svTfofia,  or  insects, 
are  my  aversion,  from  which  I  stand  in  bodily  terror, 
the  comparatively  harmless  house,  or  domestic  fly, 
herein  not  even  excepted.  My  life  has  been  a  period 
of  discomfort  and  torture  on  account  thereof — more 
especially  in  the  seasons  when  Sirius  or  the  Dog  star 
rageth.  This  ^o3r;ua,  or  fear,  I  sucked  in  with  my 
mother's  milk,  herself  an  insect-fearing  woman,  who 
stepped  into  a  nest  of  wasps  two  months  before  my 
birth,  the  whole  ireful  population  of  which  pursued 
her  half  a  mile — whereby,  on  my  being  brought  into 
the  world,  the  mark  of  a  wasp  of  vast  dimensions, 
timncus,  thorax,  proboscis  and  sler7iiim, not  to  forget 
a/as  and  pedes,  was  plainly  visible  to  the  eyes  of  the 
admiring  midwife  and  her  cronies,  in  the  small  of  my 
back:  hinc  i/iss  lachrymxl  This  fear,  therefore,  is 
maternal,  originating  in  the  ros  vetulis,  as  Virgil  ex- 
presseth  it;  and  therefore  being  natural,  cannot  be 
combatted  with  effectually,  and  overcome.  The  first 
time  of  which  my  memory  is  authentic,  that  I  gave 
symptoms  of  possessing  this  hereditary  horror  of 
winged  and  stinging  insects,  a  horror  which  has 
drugged  with  bitterness  the  cup  of  my  sublunary  ex- 
istence, was  at  the  tender  age  of  three  years,  I  being 
then  a  stout,  well-grown  boy  to  be  in  petticoats,  as  I 
remember  that  I  was.  I  was  sitting  in  the  back-door 
sunning  myself,  for  it  was  summer,  and  quietly  suck- 
ing a  lump  of  molasses  candy,  when  I  heard  all  at  once 
a  fierce  buzzing  in  the  vicinage  of  my  left  ear,  where- 
upon, without  knowing  or  understanding  its  cause,  I 


SPHEEKSPHOBIA.  231 

instinctively  shut  my  eyes,  and  opening  my  mouth, 
sent  forth  a  loud  cry.  The  buzzing  contmued  to  grow 
louder  and  approach  nearer,  and  my  cries  increased 
proportionably.  At  length  the  object  of  my  terror 
and  the  instigator  of  my  cries,  in  the  shape'of  a  formi- 
dable honey-bee,  ubi  mel,  ibi  apes,  saith  JNI.  Plautus, 
which  is  no  doubt  equally  true  of  molasses,  lit  upon 
the  tip  of  my  nose,  lavishly  besmeared  with  the  candy, 
which  I  had  been  dihgently  conveying  to  my  mouth. 
CUnging  there,  he  balanced  himself  with  his  wings, 
and  staring  me  in  the  face  with  his  great  glaring  eyes, 
for  my  infant  fears  marvellously  magnified  his  ocuU, 
he  proceeded  with  the  greatest  sang  froid,  as  the 
French  tongue  happily  expresseth  it,  briskly  to  convey 
with  liis  proboscis  the  candy  from  my  nose  to  his  sto- 
mach— brandishing  his  anteiuix,  or  horns,  all  the 
while  to  and  fro  before  my  eyes,  in  a  manner  dread- 
ful to  witness,  to  hold  me  as  it  were  in  ierrorem.  I 
was  paralysed  with  fear,  and  lost  the  command  of 
every  bodily  member,  save  my  tongue — which,  for 
the  time,  I  may  truthfully  asseverate,  did  duty  for  all 
the  rest.  There  chanced  to  be  no  soul  in  the  house  at 
this  crisis;  and  although  any  one,  even  half  a  mile  dis- 
tant, could  have  heard  ray  piteous  voice  uplifted  in 
the  notes  of  unlimited  terror,  yet  my  mother,  whose 
name  rose  loudest  upon  my  tongue,  did  not  come  to 
my  relief,  until  I  had  been  allowed,  for  full  five  min- 
utes, to  ring  a  gamut  upon  her  monosyllabic  mater- 
nal appellation,  with  every  possible  variation  familiar 
to  infant  lungs.  At  length  she  entered  at  the  top  of 
her  speed,  and  with  her  voice  pitched  to  a  scolding 
key,  when  she  espied  my  condition,  and  the  extent  of 
my  misfortunes.  Her  tongue  then  struck  up  a  treble 
to  my  tenor,  and  snatching  up  a  broom,  she  advanced 
it  like  a  pike,  edging  round  until  she  got  in  front  of 
me,  and  then  made  a  desperate  charge  against  the 
rear  of  our  mutual  foe,  who  had  thus  taken  me  in  the 
van,  and  with  her  whole  force  thrust  the  end  of  the 


232  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

broom  bodily  into  my  face  and  eyes,  laying  me  at  the 
same  timi^  flat  on  my  back,  while  she  followed  up  her 
success  by  standing  over  me  and  imprisoning  the 
enemy,  by  pressing  the  broom  firmly  down  on  my 
face.  '  As  the  spiculee  of  this  female  weapon  assailed 
the  bee  on  the  tergum,  he  sonnded  a  sharp  note  of 
alarm,  and  inserting  his  aciileiis,  or  sting,  into  my  un- 
otfending  nose,  therein  instilled  a  sufiicient  modicum 
of  poison;  and  then  deliberately  depressing  the  barbs 
of  his  sting,  he  drew  it  forth  and  secreted  himself 
among  the  straws  of  the  broom,  (for  my  mother,  good 
woman,  by  holding  stoutly  against  my  face,  twisting 
and  working  it,  in  the  attempt  to  immolate  the  mon- 
ster, gave  him  ample  time  for  this,)  from  which,  when 
she  finally  removed  it,  he  effected  his  escape,  by  dart- 
ing through  the  door,  with  a  quick  trumpet-like  sound, 
no  doubt  ^pxan  in  honoT  of  his  victory.  What  with 
the  broom  and  the  sting,  one  of  which  pricked  and 
nearly  suftbcated  me,  while  the  other  penetrated  to 
the  quick,  I  now  began  to  yell  to  a  pitch,  in  compari- 
son with  which,  my  previous  roaring  forsooth,  was 
but  the  wailing  of  a  ncAV-born  infant.  I  rolled  over 
the  floor  with  my  nose  in  my  fist,  and^  would  not  be 
comforted.  But  I  will  not  dwell  upon  this  early  remi- 
niscence; it  is  but  the  first  of  a  series  of  misfortunes 
— the  memorabilia  of  my  life — such  as  few  men  have 
lived  to  experience. 

"  Although  not  a  summer's  day  passed  that  I  did  not 
endure  corporeal  fear  from  the  approach  of  insecia, 
there  are  five  important  periods  or  crises  of  my  life, 
when  my  evil  star  reigned  especially  malignant.  One 
of  these,' which  I  have  just  recorded,  is,  peradventure, 
of  small  moment,  but  the  subject  of  it  was  but  small 
at  that  time.  Each,  however,  thou  wilt  observe,  in- 
creased in  importance  as  my  shoulders  expanded  for 
its  burden,  verily  greater  at  seasons  than  I  could  well 
bear.  iNIy  second  crisis  was  at  the  puerile  age  of 
eleven. 


SPHEEKSPHOBIA.  233 

"I  was  seated  in  school,  near  an  open  window,  when 
a  Uttle  eirl  on  the  outside  offered  to  barter  a  basket  of 
blackberries  with  me,  for  two  large  red  cheeked  ap- 
ples, balancing  each  other  in  ray  jacket  pockets.  I 
slyly  effected  the  exchange,  *  the  master'  (as  New 
England  instructors  are  very  improperly  termed — In- 
structor being  the  proper  and  more  respectable  ap- 
pellative.) having  his  back  turned,  and  poured  the  ber- 
ries into  my  hat,  which  I  placed  in  my  lap  beneath 
the  bench,  and  forthwith  began  eating  them  one  by 
one  with  my  forefinger  and  thumb,  my  eyes  the  while 
immoveably  fixed  on  my  open  book,  (alas!  how  early 
do  we  begin  to  practise  deceit!)  when,  at  length,  in 
the  midst  of  my  delectable  feast,  I  was  conscious  of  a 
strange,  portentous  titlllation  upon  my  forefinger, 
which  sensation  gradually  extended  along  the  mem- 
ber towards,  the  hand.  I  trembled  from  a  sort  of  pre- 
sentiment of  the  cause,  and  fearfully  looked  down, 
when,  mojistrum  hoi-rendum,  infurme^  ingensi  as 
Maro  hath  it,  I  beheld  a  tight-laced,  long-legged,  yel- 
low-streaked wasp,  with  a  sticky,  sluggish  motion, 
dragging  his  slow  lengih  along  the  back  of  my  hand, 
his  winas  and  feet,  clotted  with  the  juice  of  the  ber- 
ries, among  which  he  had  till  now  been  secreted, 
whether  designedly  or  not,  I  will  not  be  so  unchari- 
table as  to  determine,  albeit,  my  playmates,  aware  of 
my  weakness  did  not  refrain  when  occasion  offered, 
from  putting  upon  me  unpleasant  jests  of  this  nature. 
When  I  beheld  the  wasp  (it  was  an  individual  of  the 
species  called  the  yellow-jacket,  exceedingly  veno- 
mous and  ferocious  of  aspect.)  I  incontinently  uplifted 
my  voice  in  such  a  cry — Scottice  a  skirl,  as  birch  nor 
ferule  never  expelled  from  the  lungs  of  luckless  urchin 
within  those  walls — long,  loud,  and  terri  :c,  subsiding 
only,  to  be  renewed  on  a  higher  key.  At  the  same 
time  stretching  forth  my  hand,  upon  which  clung  the 
dreaded  object  which  I  had  not  the  power  to  touch, 
fearing  lest  the  attempt  to  dislodge  him,  would  be  the 

20* 


234  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

signal  for  the  insertion  of  his  sting  into  my  hand,  I 
leaped  from  the  window  with  a  loud  yell,  Avhich  was 
echoed  sympathetically  by  the  whole  school,  and  with 
my  hand  waving  in  the  air,  which  I  filled  with  my 
cries,  directed  my  course  for  home,  a  third  of  a  mile 
distant,  with  all  the  boys  of  the  school  let  loose,  and 
shouting  like  a  pack  of  devils  born,  at  my  heels.  In 
my  career,  I  remember  leaping  over  two  cows  lying 
and  quietly  ruminating  in  my  path,  and  that  I  run  full 
tilt  against  the  deacon,  sending  hat,'wig  and  deacon 
in  three  diverse  directions.  After  running  a  muck,  as 
IMr.  Pope  useth  the  word,  through*\he  village,  I  at- 
tained my  father's  house,  into  which  I  broke  without 
lifting  latch,  so  impetuous  was  my  course — and  cry- 
ing in  a  loud  voice,  "a  wasp!  a  wasp!"  thrust  my 
arm  (for  the  insect  had  now  crawled  up  to  my  elbow) 
before  my  mother's  eyes.  It  chanced  that,  as  I  en- 
tered she  Avas  lifting  from  the  fire  a  pot  of  boiling 
water,  in  which  she  intended  to  scald  a  couple  of  barn 
door  fowls,  for  the  meridian  meal.  Alarmed  at  my 
cries  and  sudden  appearance,  and  terrified  beyond 
measure  at  beholding  the  terrible  -insect  thrust  so  near 
her  face,  and  at  the  same  time  trembling  on  account 
of  my  own  danger,  v.^ith  something  between  a  yell 
and  a  shriek,  she  grappled  the  handle  of  the  pot  with 
one  hand  and  its  bottom  with  the  other,  and  dashed 
the  scalding  contents  over  my  arm  and  body.  With 
a  yell  finale,  I  again  darted  out  through  the  door, 
leaving  the  wasp  scalded  to  death  on  the  floor.  En- 
countering on  the  outside  the  host  of  my  schoolmates, 
\vho  were  running  towards  the  house,  I  passed 
through  their  midst  Uke  a  rocket,  giving  blows  to  the 
right  and  left,  and  leaving,  as  I  was  afterwards  told, 
five  prostrate  upon  the  earth.  At  length,  exhausted 
through  fatigue  and  suffering,  I  fell  in  the  street  in  a 
swoon,  and  was  carried  home  and  put  to  bed,  from 
Avhence  I  rose  not  until  two  painful  months  had  ex- 
pired.    The  two  periods  I  have  recorded,  involved 


SPHEEKSPHOBIA. 


235 


merely  physical  suffering.     The  third,  and  remaining 
two,  record  distresses  bolh  mental  and  physical.    The 
third  period,  which  may,  with  reverence,  be  denomi- 
nated the  third  plague  of  insects,  happened  at  college 
in  my  twenty-first  year.     I  have  enjoyed  the  benefit 
of  collegiate  erudition,  although  my  mother  had  in 
her  maidenly  estate  been  of  the  sect  called  Quakers, 
and  my  father  was  a  preacher  after  the  Methodist 
persuasion— neither  sect,  in  that  day,  distinguished 
patrons  of  the  humane  letters.     Uy  mother  had  se- 
ceded from  the  Society  of  Friends,  yet  retained  their 
simplicity  of  language  and  manners,  at  least  so  far,  as 
a  naturally  sharp  temper  would  allow;  Certes,  it  may 
not  be  concealed  that  the  neighboring  gossips  averred 
that  she  was  too  fond  of  that  spousely  privilege  of 
scolding,  to  be  a    Quaker,  and  therefore  had   come 
over  to^a  more  liberal  faith.     However  this  may  be, 
she  exhibited  in  her  person  the  opposite  characters  of 
a  scolding  wife  and  demure  Quaker,  as  the  thermom- 
eter rose  or  fell,  tempered  nevertheless,  with  a  little 
of  the  leaven  of  Methodism.     ]My  f^ither  was  a  sturdy 
apostle,  morose  and  gloomy,  given  to  antique  phrase- 
ology in  his  speech,  after  the  manner  of  my  grandfa- 
therj  who  was  a  staunch  old  Presbyterian.     There- 
fore, between  the  three,  my  domestic  education  and 
habits,  were  hke  Joseph's'coat  of  many  colors,  and 
when  I  arrived  to  the  years  of  discretion,  it   would 
have   been   a   hard  matter  to  determine,  which  pre- 
ponderated  most   in   my   character,   the    T^Iethodist, 
the  Quaker,  or  Scotch  'Presbyterian.      The   second 
person  t/ioif,  and  its  objective  singular  thee,  I  nev- 
ertheless always  use  colloquially;   firstly,  from  ma- 
ternal induction,  and  secondly,  that  it  is  classical,  and 
moreover  well  approved   by  scriptural  and   ancient 
usage,  and  I  am  somewhat  given  to  philological  anti- 
quarianism— a  lover,  or  as  the  Gallic  hath  it,  an  atna- 
teur  of  antique  customs  of  phraseology. 

*•  I  had  assumed  the  toga  viri/is,  and  passed  through 
my  quadremiial  course,"  how  I  might  here  mention, 


236  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

but  it  becometh  me  not  to  speak  in  mine  own  praise ; 
suffice  it  to  say,  that  I  was  appointed  to  a  thesis  on  the 
day  of  commencement,  that  1  ascended  the  rostrum, 
or  stage,  made  my  obeisance  to  the  audience,  and  fortli- 
with  began  to  declaim  with  sonorous  enunciation.  I 
had  got  in  the  midst  of  my  thesis,  and,  flattered  by  the 
attentive  silence  with  which  I  was  listened  to,  I  grew 
warm  with  my  theme;  my  right  arm  was  stretched 
forth  with  a  rhetorical  flourish,  my  eyes  were  illu- 
minated and  sparkling  with  excitement,  and  my  brows 
were  flushed  as  I  threw  my  whole  soul  into  the  rush 
of  eloquence  (verily  the  reminiscence  maketh  me  elo- 
quent even  now,)  and  I  was  altogether  on  what  may 
be  termed  the  high  horse  of  success  and  public  admi- 
ration, when,  mirabile  clictu,  as  Virgil  hath  it  on  a 
less  occasion,  suddenly  an  ominous  and  well-known 
buzzing  above  my  head  fell  like  a  knell  on  my  ears. 
Be  it  premised,  that  the  meeting-house  in  which  the 
commencement  exercises  were  held,  was  decorated 
with  evergreens,  and  adorned  with  numerous  sweet- 
scented  flowers,  with  one  of  which,  I  had,  in  my 
youthful  vanity,  graced  the  button-hole  of  my  white 
waistcoat.  I  lifted  my  eyes  at  the  sound,  more  dread- 
ful to  my  tympanum  than  the  horn  of  the  hunter  to  the 
timid  deer,  and  beheld  my  hereditary  foe,  in  the  shape 
of  a  long,  slender,  yellow-ringed  wasp,  darting  in  wild 
gyratioiis  above  my  head,  and  at  each  revolution,  ap- 
proaching nearer  and  more  near  to  my  ill-fated  person. 
Fox  faucibus  hxsit ,  as  Virgil  again  expresseth  it,  my 
voice  clung  to  my  jaws,  my  extended  arm  remained 
motionless,  and  with  my  eyes  fastened,  as  if  fascinated, 
upon  the  intruder,  I  lost  all  presence  of  mind,  every 
other  consideration  being  swallowed  up  in  the  con- 
sideration of  my  great  peril.  I  stood  nearly  the  space 
of  one  minute,  the  audience  being  all  the  while  silent  as 
the  grave,  as  if  transfixed  and  petrified,  exhibiting  no 
signs  of  life  save  in  my  eyes,  which  followed  the  ec- 
centric circles  of  my  foe  as  he  wheeled  around  my 


SPHEEKSPHOBIA.  237 

head,  which  he  had  chosen  as  the  conspicuous  centre 
of  his  aerial  corkscrew,  the  pillar  of  salt  nito  which  the 
wife  of  Lot  was  converted,  did  not  stand  firmer  or 
more  motionless.  Gradually  contracting  his  spiral 
circles  he  came  close  to  ray  head,  and  tlicn  with  a  sud- 
den movement  roared  past  my  ear  and  settled  upon 
the  fragrant  flower  adorning,  vunitus  vanitaiis,  my 
waistcoat.  The  roar  of  his  passage  past  my  ear,  aug- 
mented in  my  imagination  to  that  of  a  dragon  (pro- 
vided always  there  be  such  creatures,  and  being  such 
if  they  do  roar,  which  are  points  controverted  by  the 
learned)  and  his  fearful  attack  upon  my  person,  was  a 
consummation  which  restored  me  to  the  use  of  my 
paralyzed  faculties.  jNIy  first  act  was  to  leap  from  the 
rostrum  with  a  suppressed  cry,  and  seize  a  branch  of 
hemlock,  thrust  it  towards  the  nearest  person,  who 
happened  to  be  a  lady,  and  make  signs  for  her  to  brush 
it  otf.  I  never  had  dared  to  snap  tlicm  oti^  or  disturb 
them.  ISIy  mother,  whose  conversaiion  (as  those 
who  fear  ghosts,  most  love  to  liold  midnight  converse 
about  them)  was  prolific  on  this  theme,  had  early  in- 
ducted me  into  the  most  approved  plans  of  conduct, 
when  one  of  the  irritabile  i^envs  approached  or  lit  on 
the  person.  One  of  her  rules  was, '  never  to  snap  it 
oti;  for  it  is  sure  to  sting  before  it  fly ;  but  run  and  let  the 
wind  blow  it  oftV  Another  was,  ''if  it  will  still  stay  on, 
then  get  some  other  person  to  brush  it  off  and  its  anger 
will  be  turned  from  you  to  that  obliging  person." 
These  rules  of  action,  and  many  others,  were  fresh  in 
my  memory,  and  I  was  at  all  times  religiously  govern- 
ed by  them. 

"  The  branch  of  hemlock  chanced  to  be  attached  to 
a  festoon  connecting  a  succession  of  others  around  the 
pulpit,  where  sate"'  the  President  in  all  the  dignity 
which  an  austere  air,  a  corpulent  person,  a  broad  brim 
could  confer,  presiding  over  the  exercises  of  the  hour. 
Immediately  behind  him  rose  to  some  height  a  young 
eradicated  pine  tree,  whose  pyramidal  summit  formed 


238  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

the  central  support  and  apex  of  the  chain  of  festoons, 
answering  in  relation  thereto,  to  the  stake  which  up- 
holds the  drooping  centre  of  a  clothes-Une.  At  my 
attack  the  whole  paraphernalia  gave  way,  pine  tree 
and  all,  with  a  tremendous  rustling  and  crashing,  car- 
rying away  in  its  headlong  rush  the  President's  broad 
brim  and  one  of  the  capacious  sleeves  of  his  black  silk 
gown  or  surplice,  his  reverend  dignity  alone  saving 
himself  from  sharing  the  same  fate  by  ducking  beneath 
the  balustrade  of  the  pulpit  and  permitting  the  danger 
to  pass  over  him,  which  it  did,  descendmg  upon  the 
respected  heads  and  sacred  persons  of  the  honorable 
Board  of  Trustees  sitting  beneath.  The  uproar  and 
confusion — laughter  mingled  with  exclamations,  was 
without  limit,  and  while  every  soul  seemed  to  be  ab- 
sorbed in  the  crash  and  its  consequences,  I,  the  luck- 
less author  of  the  w^hole  demolition,  saw,  heard,  felt 
and  was  conscious  of  nothing  but  the  presence  of  the 
dreaded  insect,  that  had  fastened  on  me,  who  was  now, 
having  evacuated  the  flower,  hastily  effecting  a  retreat 
within  the  gaping  bosom  of  my  shirt.  My  tremen- 
dous pull  at  the  twig,  left  it  however  in  my  hands,  and 
while  the  wreck  of  matter  was  going  on  above  and 
around  me,  oblivious  of  all  else  save  my  own  pecu- 
liar misery,  I  darted,  as  I  have  before  said,  toward  an 
elderly  maiden  lady,  and  thrusting  the  branch  in  her 
unwilling  hand,  cried  in  a  loud  voice,  ^ brush  it  off! 
oh  brush  it  off!'  So  impetuously  did  I  thrust  it  to- 
wards her,  that  I  lost  my  equilibrium  and  fell  into  her 
lap,  entangling  as  I  fell,  the  branch  of  hemlock  in  her 
red  curls,  which,  as  is  the  fashion  among  women,  were 
only  attached  to  her  head,  and  as  I  rolled  from  her  pro- 
faned lap  to  the  floor,  1  carried  with  me  on  the  branch 
waving  like  pennons,  the  elderly  maiden  lady's  false 
and  fiery  tresses  appended  thereto.  She  lifted  up  her 
voice  and  screamed  with  combined  affright,  rage  and 
mortification,  and  jumping  up  she  stamped  upon  me 
as  I  lay  at  her  feet  in  ungovernable  ire.     ^  But  there 


SPHEEKSPHOBIA.  239 

is  no  evil  unattended  with  good.'  (I  give  the  Saxon 
or  Enghsh  words  of  the  proverb,  the  original  Latin 
having  shpped  my  memory.)  The  wasp,  the  direct 
cause  of  all  the  mischief,  who  had  adhered  to  me  like 
my  evil  angel,  received  the  full  weight  of  her  heel  on 
the  tergum  and  was  crushed  to  atoms,  upon  the  snow 
white  bosom  of  my  shirt.  I  heard  every  section  of 
his  body  crack,  and  as  I  listened  I  felt  a  savage  joy  fill 
my  breast,  tempered,  however,  as  I  now  remember,  by 
an  incipient  apprehension,  lest  even  in  death,  he  might 
avenge  his  fall  by  penetrating  my  linen  and  cuticle 
with  his  sting. 

Now  that  the  danger  was  over,  I  had  time  to  reflect 
for  an  instant  and  feel  the  ridiculous  peculiarity  of  my 
situation,  and  at  once  decided  upon  taking  to  flight,  to 
escape  facing  the  audience.  The  next  moment  I  was 
on  my  feet,  and  forcing  my  way  to  the  door  fled  to- 
wards the  college,  as  if  a  whole  nest  of  hornets  was 
in  full  cry  in  pursuit,  followed  by  a  motley  crowd, 
who  are  comprised  in  the  French  word  canaille,  some 
shouting  ''  there  goes  dragon-fly — there  goes  bumble- 
bee! Stop  thief!  murder!"  and  all  the  various  cries  the 
populace  are  used  to  utter,  when  they  pursue,  without 
knowing  why  or  wherefore,  the  wretch  who  fleeth. 
The  next  day  I  departed  from  the  scene  of  my  dis- 
grace and  disaster,  and  in  course  of  time  found  myself 
in  the  pleasant  village  of  Geneva  in  the  western  part 
of  the  state  of  New  York,  teacher  of  a  respectable 
school.  I  may  say  here  in  passing,  that  from  inclina- 
tion I  have  adopted  teaching  as  a  profession — for 
although  not  ranked  among  the  learned  professions  it 
verily  should  be.  This  profession  or  vocation  I  still 
pursue,  even  here,  far  off  in  Mississippi,  whither  my 
wanderings  have  at  length  driven  me. 

The  fourth  plague  of  stings  was  when  I  had  attain- 
ed the  discreet  age  of  thirty-one  years,  I  being  then  a 
resident  and  schoolmaster  of  the  then  infant  town  of 
Rochester,  having  taught  with  divers  degrees  of  sue- 


240  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

cess  in  many  othes  villages  after  I  left  Geneva,  which 
I  departed  from  after  a  sojourn  there  of  twelve  calen- 
dar months.  Having  laid  by  a  small  store  of  worldly 
coin,  and  being  held  generally  in  good  repute  among 
my  neighbors,  I  began  to  bethink  me  that  it  was  best 
to  take  unto  myself  a  wife,  according  to  the  command- 
ment. When  I  came  to  this  resolve  I,  the  next  Sun- 
day, cast  my  eyes  about  the  church  to  see  on  whom 
my  choice  should  light,  revolving  in  my  mind,  as  my 
eyes  wandered  from  one  bonnet  to  another,  the  capa- 
bilities of  each  for  the  dignity  of  nidter-famUias  to 
Instructor  Stingflyer  (for  such  is  my  patronymic,  my 
given  name  being  Abel)  when  I  decided  propounding 
the  question  of  matrimony  to  Miss  Deborah,  or  as  she 
was  called  among  her  acquaintance  and  kinsfolk,  Miss 
Debby  Primruff,  an  excellent  maiden  lady,  only  a  few 
years  my  senior,  tall,  straight,  comely,  and  withal  fair- 
haired.  Turning  the  subject  over  in  my  mind  during 
the  week  while  the  scholars  were  engaged  at  their 
tasks,  and  seeing  no  cause  to  change  my  mind,  I  ar- 
ranged myself  on  Saturday  evening  in  my  Sunday  suit 
of  black  broadcloth,  ook  my  walking-stick  and  gloves, 
and  with  a  bold  step  and  confident  demeanor,  sought 
the  mansion  of  the  fair  maiden,  whom  I  intended 
should  be  the  future  Mrs.  Stingflyer.  I  was  received 
very  graciously,  for  I  had  met  Miss  Deborah  before  at 
a  quilting-party  at  the  dwelling  of  a  worthy  gentleman, 
one  Mr.  Lawrie  Todd,  one  of  the  select  men  of  the 
town,  and  an  active  member  of  the  school  committee. 
Yet,  Cupid  nor  Hymen  never  entered  my  thoughts  in 
connection  with  Miss  Deborah  until  now.  Whatever 
courage  I  had  mustered  for  the  occasion,  proved  to  be, 
when  I  stood  in  her  maidenly  presence,  a  mere  flash 
in  the  pan.  After  beating  about  the  bush  fruitlessly  a 
long  time,  and  appearing  more  awkward  than  I  could 
have  desired  before  my  lady-love,  after  much  pulling 
on  and  ofl"  of  gloves,  tracing,  as  it  were  musingly,  ca- 
balistic figures  on  the  floor  with  my  walking-stick, 


SPHEEKSPHOBIA..  241 

twirling  my  well  brushed  hat  in  my  fingers,  rising  and 
going  to  the  open  window  many  times,  and  as  often 
returning  to  my  chair,  while  Miss  Debby,  oblivions  of 
her  knitting,  followed  my  movements  with  wondering 
eyes,  I  at  length  desperably  determined  to  come  to 
the  point. 

"^  Miss  Debby,  that  is,  I  mean  to  say,  ^Nliss  Debo- 
rah,' I  said,  drawing  my  cl^ir  near  to  her  own,  and 
taking  the  strand  of  yarn  between  my  forefinger  and 
thumb,  and  giving  it  a  nervous,  yet  affectedly  careless 
twist,  while  the  perspiration  exuded  from  my  fore- 
head, for  it  was  a  warm  July  evening,  *  Dost  thou 
ever  read  the  Bible?' 

"^The  Bible,  Mr.  Stingflyerr'  she  fairly  vociferated, 
laying  her  knitting  on  her  lap,  and  turning  round  and 
staring  me  full  in  the  face;  '  why,  what  c(m  you  mean 
by  asking  me  such  a  question?  Do  you  take  me  for  a 
'homadown — and  my  uncle  a  deacon  too?' 

" '  Nay,  Miss  Deborah,'  said  I,  hastening  to  inter- 
pose between  her  anger  and  my  love;  'nay,  I  pray 
thee,  be  not  wroth  with  me.  I  well  know  the  savor 
of  thy  sanctity.  I  did  intend  to  ask  of  thee  if  thou 
retainedst  in  thy  excellent  memory,  verse  ISth,  chap- 
ter the  2d  of  Genesis.' 

•' '  Why,  I  don't  know  if  I  do  rightly,  but  I  can  easily 
find  it,'  she  answered  complacently,  soothed  by  my 
grain  of  flattery,  for  herein  Ovid  had  taught  me  the 
sex  is  accessible;  and  laying  her  knitting  upon  my 
knees,  she  hastened  to  bring  the  family  Bible,  which 
she  spread  open  on  a  small  light  stand  discreetly  placed 
between  us,  and  began  diligently  to  turn  over  the 
leaves  of  the  quarto,  but  rather  as  if  she  were  seeking 
the  book  of  Revelations  than  that  of  Genesis.  I  made 
bold  to  hint  that  it  might  be  better  to  begin  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  book,  when,  turning  thither,  much 
to  her  delight,  and  as  her  manner  betrayed,  much  to 
her  surprise,  she  found  the  book  named,  and  soon  af- 
21 


242  THE^AMERIC AN  LOUNGER. 

ter,  the  chapter  and  verse,  and  forthwith  commenced 
readmg  aloud : 

" ^  It  is  not  good  that  man  should  be  alone; 

1  will  make  a  help  meet  for  him.''  Why,  what  is 
there  in  this  verse  so  very  remarkable,  Mr.  Stingflyer?^' 
she  interrogated,  neverthless  blushing  consciously,  and 
without  looking  up. 

"Although  I  felt  my  courage  oozing,  as  it  were,  from 
beneath  my  finger  nails,  and  exudating  from  every 
pore  in  my  body,  I  nevertheless  felt  that  I  had  broken 
the  ice — and  already  placed  my  foot  on  the  pons  asi- 
novum  of  lovers,  and  that  it  was  easier  to  advance 
than  to  retreat;  I  therefore  determined  to  persevere  in 
my  suit  and  leave  the  rest  to  the  gods. 

"  *  Dost  thou  not  apprehend  the  application  thereof, 
Miss  Debby?'  I  said,  in  my  most  insiiuiating  tones, 
edging  my  chair  a  few  inches  closer  to  her  own,  and 
taking  her  slightly  resisting  hand  in  mine. 

"  '  Not  in  the  least,  Mr.  Stingflyer,'  she  replied  with 
that  perverse  blindness  which  at  such  times  is  wont  to 
characterise  the  sex;  while  I  am  well  assured  in  my 
own  mind,  she  knew  full  as  well  what  I  would  be  at 
(for  the  sex  have  much  acumen  in  these  matters)  as  I 
did  myself. 

" '  Then,'  I  said,  borne  irresistibly  onward  by  the 
fates,  which  direct  the  passion  amor,  ^may  it  please 
thee  to  turn  for  an  illustration  thereof,  and  for  further 
light  thereupon,  to  chapter  ix.  verse  the  1st  of  the  same 
book?'  and  after  I  had  ceased  speaking,  I  assumed  an 
aspect  of  much  gravity.  She  sought  and  found  the 
passage  designated;  but  this  time,  after  casting  her 
eyes  upon  it,  her  color  increased,  and  without  reading 
it  aloud  as  before,  she  shut  the  book  quickly,  saying, 
'I  do  declare!  what  can  you  mean,  Mr.  Stingflyer?' 
and  she  looked  both  pleased  and  offended;  although  I 
opine,  the  latter  was  assumed  as  a  sort  of  vanguard  to 
her  maidenly  discretion. 

" '  I  mean,  my  dear  Miss  Debby,'  I  exclaimed,  seiz- 


SPHEEKSPHOBIA.  243 

ing  both  her  hands,  and  droppmg  on  both  my  knees 
before  her,  impelled  by  the  amoris  stimiiliyiox  amende 
et  sapere  is  hard  for  man  to  do,  <that  it  is  not  good 
for  me  to  be  alone — that  my  soul  yearneth,  yea,  verily, 
crieth  aloud  for  a  lielp  meet — therefore,  oh  Deborah, 
I  fain  would  obey  the  commandment,  Genesis  9-th,  1st, 
if  thou  wilt  take  part  and  lot  with  me  in  this  matter; 
for  Debby,'  and  here  my  voice,  which  had  been  lifted 
up  in  the  eloquence  of  my  passion,  fell  to  a  more  ten- 
der key,  'Debby,  light  of  my  eyes,  I  love  thee!'  here 
I  laid  my  hand  upon  my  waistcoat,  over  the  region  of 
the  heart,  and  continued  vehemently,  '  and  from  this 
posture  will  I  not  rise  until  thou  hast  blessed  me.' 

"  Miss  Deborah  turned  pale,  then  became  red,  and 
then  became  pale  again,  giggled,  simpered,  and  looked 
every  way  but  towards  me,  but  made  no  answer. 
Emboldened  by  her  silence,  which  I  interpreted  favor- 
ably, remembering  the  Latin  proverb,  qui  Jion  negat 
faUtur,  whose  English  parallel  is  "  Silence  giveth  as- 
sent," I  leaned  forward,  drawing  her  gently  towards 
me,  for  the  purpose  of  placing  the  sigillum  or  seal 
upon  her  lips,  when  an  enormous  door-bug,  or  hedge- 
chafer,  a  clumsy,  uncouth  species  of  the  black  beetle, 
bounced  with  a  loud  hum  into  the  room  through  the 
open  window,  aiming  point  blank  for  the  candle, 
which  chanced  to  stand  in  a  hne  between  me  and  the 
aforesaid  window,  and  with  the  force  of  a  cross-bolt, 
struck  me  between  the  eyes,  as  I  continued  to  remain 
in  my  attitude  of  genuflection,  and  partly  from  terror, 
and  in  part  from  the  force  of  the  blow,  with  a  loud 
exclamation,  I  fell  backwards  upon  the  floor  like  one 
who  had  been  wounded  even  unto  the  death.  The 
next  moment,  alive  to  the  ludicrousness  of  my  situa- 
tion, I  recovered  myself — which  recovery  was  not  a 
little  expedited  by  the  undisguised  laughter  of  the 
merry  maiden,  on  whose  lips  I  was  about  to  place  the 
seal  of  requited  afl:ection:  experience  having  not  then 
instructed  my  youth,  omnium  mulierum  fugianiiir 


244  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

oscida.  Bat  my  sufferings  were  not  terminated.  I 
fain  would  have  laugiied  my  disaster  off,  pretending 
that  it  wks  only  a  conceit  of  my  own,  to  fall  as  if  shot 
with  a  bullet,  had  not  my  ears  been  assailed,  as  I  rose 
again  to  my  feet,  by  the  appalling  burring  and  whiz- 
zing of  the  enemy,  darting  fiercely  about  the  room, 
now  thumping  violently  against  the  opposite  wall, 
now  buzzing  by  my  head  with  a  hum  like  a  hundred 
tops,»the  whole  more  dreadful  on  account  of  the  dark- 
ness of  the  extremities  of  the  apartment,  which  ren- 
dered it  exceedingly  dithcult  to  follow,  with  any  cer- 
tainty, the  motions  of  the  insect,  and  thereby  guard 
against  his  approach.  My  first  impulse  was  to  leap 
from  the  window,  to  the  utter  demohtion  of  Miss  De- 
borah's flower-beds.  But,  guessing  my  desperate  re- 
solve, by  the  frenzied  roll  of  my  eyes  in  that  direction, 
and  the  preparatory  movements  of  my  limbs,  she 
closed  it,  oh  faemina,  semper  onutahile!  with  a  sud- 
den jerk,  and  a  loud  laugh,  as  if  delectating  herself 
with  \T^  terrors.  Certes,  since  that  period,  my  senti- 
ments m  relation  to  the  softness  and  charity  of  woman- 
kind hav6  been  revised!  Thwarted  in  this  point,  my 
next  impulse  was  to  endeavor  to  gain  the  door — which 
purpose  I  at'length  effected,  after  dodging  the  trans- 
verse,i<course  of  the  beetle  as  he  traversed  the  room; 
and  throwing  it  open,  I  sprang  through  it,  not  into  the 
passage,  but  into  Miss  Deborah's  china  closet,  and 
striking  my  foot  against  a  jar  of  preserves,  upset  it, 
and  pitched  irresistibly  against  the  lower  shelf  laden 
with  her  choicest  domestic  wares,  and  amid  a  jangling, 
crashing,  crackling,  and  rattling,  sufficient  to  make 
even  the  deaf  hear,  I  fell  to  the  floor,  receiving  in  my 
fall,  by  way  of  corollary,  divers  contusions  from  the 
falling  ruins,  and  lay,  like  Samson,  buried  in  the  wreck 
I  had  myself  created. 

"  The  laughter  of  Miss  Debby  was  hereupon  sudden- 
ly changed  to  a  loud  key  of  mingled  surprise,  anger 
and  grief,  in  which  she  attacked  me  with  a  volley  of 


SPHEEKSPHOBIA.  245 

undeserved  vituperation  and  abuse,  considering  that 
the  hedge-chafer,  and  not  I,  was  the  author  of  the  mis- 
chief Bruised,  mortified  and  exceedingly  chop-fallen, 
I  at  length  dragged  my  unlucky  body  forth,  notwith- 
standing I  still  heard  the  buzz-wzz-z-i,  of  the  formida- 
ble bug  in  his  flight  about  the  room,  but  between  his 
whizzing  and  the  clamor  of  jNIiss  Deborah's  tongue, 
I  was  left  to  choose  between  Scylla  and  Charybdis. 
But  I  will  dwell  no  longer  upon  this  event.  I  etlected 
my  escape  as  well  as  I  could,  and  the  next  Monday 
morning  made  up  the  loss  of  earthen  vessels  in  coin, 
to  the  mother  of  ]\Iiss  Deborah.  And  verily  here 
ended  my  first  and  last  attempt  to  secure  a  mater 
Jamil  ins,  to  perpetuate  the  ill-fated  patronymic  of 
Stingflyer  to  posterity. 

"  Four  woes  have  passed,  and  yet  another  woe  Com- 
eth. My  adventure  in  the  china-closet  having  been 
bruited  about  the  village,  my  pupils,  (such  being  ever 
ready  to  fasten  a  nickname  upon  their  instructors,) 
conferring  upon  me  the  unseemly  appellation  of 
*  Hedge-chafer,'  determined  me  to  change  my  place 
of  habitation  I  next,  after  divers  wanderings,  pitched 
my  tent  in  the  state  of  Ohio,  which  hath  been  called 
'  the  paradise  of  schoolmasters,'  drawn  thither  by  the 
reports  that  reached  mine  ears,  of  the  richnes^jf  the 
land;  and  in  a  town  a  few  miles  from  Cincinnati,  I 
resumed  my  occupation  of  instilling  knowledge  into 
the  minds  of  the  rising  generation.  It  came  To  pass 
after  I  had  sojourned  here  nearly  the  space  of  two 
years,  I  was  appointed  the  orator  for  the  Fourth  of 
July,  A.  D.  1825.  My  thesis,  or  oration,  prepared  for 
this  occasion,  was  previously  read  by  me  to  two  or 
three  village  oracles,  with  much  applause,  which,  in 
justice  to  myself,  and  more  especially  to  the  judgment 
of  the  committee,  by  Avhom  I  had  the  honor  of  being 
appointed,  I  must  confess  my  composition  fully 
merited. 

The  procession  was  formed  opposite  the  Masonic 
21* 


246  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

Hall,  I  being  appointed  to  an  honorable  rank  therein, 
even  the  foremost  of  the  van,  save  the  musicians  and 
marshal;  the  music  struck  up,  and  with  martial  pace 
it  proceeded  through  the  principal  streets  of  the  town,, 
towards  the  church,  which  I  flattered  myself  I  was 
about  to  fill  with  Demosthenean  eloquence.  As  I 
moved  forward,  a  bhie  ribbon  waving  its  pennons  at 
the  button  hole  of  my  coat,  my  bosom  swelled  with 
a  due  consciousness  of  the  conspicuousness  of  my 
situation,  and  I  felt  that  every  eye  was  fixed  upon  me 
in  admiration,  if  not  envy:  my  step  was  firm,  as  it 
rose  and  fell  to  the  strains  of  music — my  chest  expan- 
ded, and  my  head  was  elevated — and  gracefully  did 
I  carry  in  my  hand,  the  manuscript,  also  garnished 
with  a  gay  knot  of  blue  ribbon,  whose  written  elo- 
quence was  that  day  to  enchain  men's  minds,  and  fill 
their  souls  with  patriotism.  No  Roman,  entering  the 
imperial  city  after  a  victory,  on  a  triumphal  car,  ever 
bore  a  prouder  heart  than  I  did  that  day — alas,  dies 
infaiistus!  In  our  circumambulatory  progress 
through  the  village,  traversing  its  every  lane  and 
alley,  that  all  might  witness  the  pageant  of  which  I 
was  'the  head  and  front,'  we  passed  through  a 
stragghng  angle  of  the  town — a  sort  of  detached  sub- 
urb, #hen  the  music  was  all  at  once  drowned  by  a 
loud  and  discordant  din,  caused  by  the  beating  of  tin- 
kettles,  the  clattering  of  warming-pans,  the  jingling  of 
sleigh-bells,  the  tooting  of  horns,  and  clamor  of  women 
and  children,  saluting  the  tympana  Avith  a  Babelion 
confusion  not  unworthy  of  the  precincts  of  the  infernal 
regions,  while  at  the  same  time,  a  wretched  alley  just 
in  advance  of  us,  poured  out  a  motley  crowd  of  slat- 
tern wives  and  breechless  urchins,  armed  with  a  thou- 
sand tongues,  and  beating  every  instrument  whereof 
the  chronicles  of  discord  have  made  mention.  But  a 
sight  more  dreadful,  a  sound  more  horrible,  alone 
filled  my  ears,  and  concentrated  my  optics.  Over  the 
heads  of  this  clamorous  multitude  hung  a  dark  cloud 


SPHEEKSPHOBIA.  247 

of  bees,  whose  million  wings  sent  forth  a  sound  like 
the  roaring  of  the  sea.  Appalling  vision!  each  parti- 
cular hair  of  my  head  stood  on  end,  and  my  heart 
leaped  into  my  throat. 

"  At  the  sight  of  the  procession  the  clamor  ceased, 
and  the  women,  duces  factl,  retreated  from  view, 
while  the  vacillating  swarm,  attracted  by  the  music, 
now  alone  heard,  wheeled  towards  the  head  of  our 
column,  and  darkened  the  air  above  my  head.  There 
are,  it  hath  verily  been  asserted,  some  persons  wiiom 
bees  will  not  sting,  (an  asseiwation  which  I  am  in- 
clined to  controvert,)  and  reversely,  that  there  are 
others,  whom  they  will  take  pains  to  sting,  of  whom 
I  am  one  especially  honored.  From  childhood  to 
manhood,  whether  a  boy  in  a  crowd  of  boys,  or  a  man 
in  a  throng  of  men,  a  bee  never  chanced  to  hover  in 
the  air,  who  did  not  single  me  out,  and  descend  upon 
my  ill-fated  person,  whether  from  a  sympathetic  at- 
traction towards  the  honey-bee  imprinted  in  the  small 
of  my  back  or  not,  is  a  question  whose  solution  I  leave 
to  metaphysicians.  Knowing,  however,  from  expe- 
rience, how  powerfully  I  was  magnetised,  and  seeing 
these  myriads  of  attractive  atoms  so  near  my  person, 
I  felt  that  I  should  not  long  stand  my  ground.  At  the 
moment  the  swarm  approached,  the  whole  band 
chanced  to  strike  up  with  a  loud  clang,  in  a  sort  of 
chorus,  and  simultaneously  the  bees  descended  close 
to  our  heads,  and  as  they  swept  round  like  an  army 
wheeling,  two  or  three  stragglers  or  flank-riders 
brushed  past  my  cheeks,  while  amid  the  dreadful  roar 
of  their  passage  I  had  nearly  lost  my  wits,  and  should 
no  doubt  have  lost  them  altogether,  if  they  had  not 
quickly  reascended;  and  as  the  music  ceased,  by  the 
command  of  the  marshal,  settled  to  my  great  relief,  on 
an  umbrageous  tree  in  the  vicinity. 

"  I  congratulated  myself  on  retaining  my  self-posses- 
sion in  so  large  an  assemblage  of  witnesses— philosophy 
with  my  advance  in  life,  having  enabled  me  in  some 


248  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

degree  to  control  my  emotions  on  these  occasions, 
although  no  mental  effort  can  effectually  overcome  an 
inherited  nervous  infirmity.  Prouder  than  if  I  had 
been  the  victor  of  Waterloo,  I  lifted  my  foot  to  the 
time  of  the  music  to  proceed  in  my  march,  when  I  felt 
a  sensation  as  if  something  was  crawling  on  the  back 
of  my  neck.  I  trembled,  and  my  blood  run  cold  to  my 
finger  ends.  I  was  afraid  to  reach  my  hand  to  the  spot 
for  fear  it  should  be  stung;  for  I  foreboded  a  stray  bee 
from  the  swarm  had  lighted  on  my  collar,  and  I  dared 
not  ask  those  behind  me  to  brush  it  off,  lest  it  should 
sting  me  in  revenge.  Moreover,  the  very  conscious- 
ness of  this  dangerous  vicinage  of  my  hereditary  foe, 
caused  in  my  mind  too  much  terror  to  articulate  such 
a  request,  or  to  yield  to  any  other  impulse,  than  my 
customary  one  of  flight,  in  obedience  to  my  mother's 
laws,  in  such  cases  made  and  provided.  Therefore, 
as  I  felt  the  tittillation  of  his  progress  along  the  junction 
of  my  cravat  and  cuticle,  I  shouted  involuntarily  aloud 
and  broke  from  the  procession,  and  with  wonderful 
speed  darted  up  the  street,  my  flight  not  a  little  accele- 
rated by  discovering  a  second  bee,  clinging  to  the 
blue  ribbon  which  fluttered  at  my  button-hole.  This 
last  invader,  however,  the  wind  of  ni}^  motion  soon 
dislodged,  but  instantly  recovering  his  wings,  he  turned 
and  pursued  in  full  cry.  Of  a  surety,  this  was  an  un- 
pleasant strait  for  a  man  of  my  consequence  on  that 
day  to  be  placed  in — an  enemy  in  pursuit,  and  another 
equally  ferocious  in  possession  of  my  unlucky  body. 
The  faster  I  fled,  and  the  stronger  became  the  wind, 
which  fairly  whistled  past  my  ears,  the  closer  the  in- 
sect stuck  to  my  skin, having  now  achieved,  by  creeping 
Avith  much  circumspection,  half  the  circumference 
of  my  neck,  and  entangled  his  antennae  among  my 
half-whiskers,  which  I  am  accustomed  to  Avear,  in 
order  that  my  hebdomadal  labor  of  shaving  may  be 
more  of  a  sinecure.  But  I  Avill  not  linger  over  the 
details  of  my  flight,  the  wonder  of  the  procession,  the 


SPHEEKSPHOBIA.  249 

hootings  of  the  boys,  the  dispersion  of  the  pageant, 
and  the  consternation  of  the  musicians,  whose  vocation 
fled  with  me — I  will  only  as  a  laithful  recorder  of  my 
woeSjSay  that  I  ran  half  a  mile  straight  into  the  conntry, 
was  grievously  stung  by  the  enemy  wlio  had  lodged 
on  my  cheek,  before  I  had  effected  half  that  distance, 
that  the  pain  added  wings  to  my  flight,  and  that  my 
pursuer  came  up  with  me  as  I  desperately  plunged  at 
risk  of  life  and  limb,  into  a  hedge  at  the  termination 
of  the  half  a  mile,  hoping  to  leave  the  hedge  between 
us,  and  thus  baffle  him,  and  how,  instead  of  clearing 
the  hedge,  oh,  accumulation  of  woes!  I  leaped  into 
the  middle  of  it,  and  sunk  into  the  midst  of  a  nest 
of  hornets. 

"  Wliether  I  should  lie  down  and  die  like  a  martyr, 
or  rise  up  and  fly,  was  the  debate  of  a  moment  in  my 
mind.  I  chose  the  latter,  for  verily,  life  is  sweet,  and 
scrambled  back  into  the  road,  malgre  the  bee  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hedge  (but  greater  dangers  swallowed 
up  the  lesser,)  I  fled  back  to  the  town  at  greater  speed 
than  I  had  left  it,  a  score  of  angry  hornets  singing  in 
my  ears.  When  I  arrived  once  more  in  the  village,  to 
use  the  words  of  a  pleasing  poet,  in  facetiously  de- 
scribins:  a  less  memorable  race — 


'3 


'The  dogs  did  bark,  the  cliildren  scream'd, 

Up  flew  the  windows  all; 
And  every  soul  cried  out,  "  well  done  I" 

As  loud  as  they  could  bawl.' 

I  fell  upon  the  threshold  of  my  landlady's  door,  almost 
lifeless,  my  body  having,  as  was  ascertained  by  subse- 
quent enumeration,  been  perforated  by  the  aculei  of 
the  hornets  in  the  thirty-seven  different  places.  After 
being  confined  with  my  wounds  and  a  consequent 
fever  for  the  space  of  four  weeks,  I  once  more  became 
a  wanderer,  being  too  sensitive  upon  my  disaster  to 
remain  where  my  adventure  afforded  too  much  mer- 


250  THE  AMERICAN  L0L3GER= 

riment  with  my  friends  and  gossips,  for  me  to  share  in 
it  with  any  especial  grace.  I  v/ould  observe,  how- 
ever, in  passing,  that  my  oration,  which  I  had  thrown 
down  in  my  flight,  was  picked  up  by  the  ]\larslial  of 
the  day,  who  got  the  procession  once  more  into  march- 
ing order,  and  that  it  was  read  from  the  pulpit,  by  a 
young  lawyer,  with  much  taste  and  execution,  vastly 
to  the  delight  and  edification  of  the  audience,  who 
bore  testimony  that  such  a  gem  of  Fourth  of  July 
oratory  had  never  been  listened  to — nay,  that  it  even 
surpassed  the  homilies  of  the  minister  himself — who 
was,  allow  me  to  remark,  a  scholar  of  great  erudition. 
This  sugared  news  was  breathed  into  my  ear  by  my 
sympathetic  landlady,  while  I  lay  bedridden  after- 
wards, and  verily  it  was  a  salvo  both  to  my  wounded 
flesh  and  spirit. 

^'  My  next  place  of  abode,  after  divers  journeyings, 
was  in  the  beautiful  city  of  Natchez,  which  verily  for 
Arcadian  attractiveness  of  aspect,  hath  not  its  equal 
among  the  cities  of  the  West.  Here,  for  there  was 
no  want  of  instructors  of  youth,  I  foregathered  with 
an  elderly  and  worthy  gentleman,  a  God-fearing  and 
coin-getting  man,  who  agreed  with  me  for  my  daily 
bread,  and  the  sum  of  eight  shillings  per  week,  to  sum 
up  his  accompts.  This  labor  I  faithfully  executed,  and 
at  length,  learning  by  the  public  print,  that  a  teacher 
of  the  humane  letters  v/as  needed  in  this  village,  from 
which  I  address  you,  on  foot  I  came  thither,  bearing 
my  recommendation  in  my  countenance,  God,  I  trust, 
having  given  me  an  honest  one,  and  forthwith  entered 
on  my  occupation,  wiiich  I  still  delightedly  pursue — 
for,  though  southern  boys  are  not  so  studious  as  north- 
ern lads,  they  nevertheless  possess  a  natural  quickness 
of  parts,  which  I  may  denominate  intuition,  whereby 
with  little  diligence  they  learn  much,  arriving  at  con- 
clusions per  saltum  by  a  leap  as  it  were,  which  ren- 
dereth  it  a  pleasing  task  to  instruct  them. 

^'  The  day  I  had  the  felicity  of  meeting  with  thee,  my 


SPHEEKSPHOBIA.  251 

friend,  being  a  Saturday,  and  therefore,  by  prescription, 
a  holiday,  I  had  doffed  and  laid  aside  my  outward 
garment,'  and  enveloped  in  my  wrapper  or  summer 
gown,  was  seated  in  the  little  room  which  I  occupy  as 
my  sanctum  sanctorum^  perusing  my  favorite  Maro, 
(for  Virgil  hath  ever  been  my  favorite,  saving  the 
Georgic  which  treateth  of  the  nurture  of  bees,)  when 
I  heard  the  well-known  sound  of  a  wasp  singing  about 
the  room.  I  immediately  sprung  from  my  cliair,  with 
so  sudden  a  movement,  that  the  sagacious  insect  no 
donbt  mistook  it  for  a  hostile  one,  though,  Dii  imnior- 
tales!  I  had  not  the  most  distant  idea  of  assuming  a 
belligerent  attitude — and  with  a  sharp  note  darted 
towards  me.  I  evaded  the  charge,  by  dodging  my 
head,  and  fled  forth  into  the  street  en  dishabille,  my 
terrible  enemy  in  close  pursuit.  Thou  didst  witness, 
my  worthy  friend,  the  result,  and  to  thee  am  I  indebted 
for  aid  in  mine  affliction,  saving  me,  peradventure, 
from  a  watery  ^rave.  In  part  liquidation  of  this  my 
debt  of  gratitude,  I  pen  and  transmit  to  thee  these 
brief  records  of  my  eventful  life,  believing  that  after 
the  perusal  of  them  thou  wilt  not  withliold  thy  sym- 
pathy from  him,  to  whom  the  sound  of  a  flying  insect 
is  more  terrible  than  the  whizzing  of  a  bullet;  and  who 
feareth  less  the  thrust  of  a  javelin  than  the  barbed 
sting  of  the  irrit  a  bile  genus,  a  race  he  verily  beheveth 
created  to  torment  him,  and  himself  created  to  be  their 
miserable  victim. 

"  Your  servant,  faithfully  to  command, 

"  Abel  Stingflyer,  A.  M." 


[Note  by  the  Author  of"  Lafitte."] 

Being  in  the  village  of  Port  Gibson  a  few  weeks 
ago,  I  learned  that  the  unfortunate  hero  of  the  above 
memoirs,  had  left  that  rural  village  and  returned  to 
the  city  of  Natchez,  where,  in  copartnership  with  a 
man  from  the  land  of  Connecticut,  he  dealt  in  mer- 


^ 


252  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

chandise,  having  exchanged  the  honorable  occupa- 
tion of  "  teaching  the  hnmane  letters,'^  for  the  less  in- 
tellectual one  of  heaping  together  riches  through  the 
buying  and  selling  of  goods. 

When  I  was  last  in  Natchez,  I  therefore  sought 
him  out  and  found  him,  although  his  name  in  the 
firm  is  modestly  and  unassumingly  concealed  under 
the  abbreviation,  CO.,  and  was  pleased  to  learn  from 
his  own  lips  that  he  was  prosperous.  Although  his 
stock  in  trade  is  multifarious,  he  took  pains  to  inform 
me  that  the  leading  stipulation  in  his  agreement  of 
copartnership  was,  that  neither  sugar,  nor  molasses, 
nor  any  thing  dulcis  naturx  holding  out  temptations 
to  the  irr it abile genus,  should  be  allowed  admittance 
into  the  store  as  part  of  their  stock  of  merchandise. 
It  was  in  this  interview  with  him  I  obtained  the  per- 
mission to  make  such  disposition  of  his  manuscript  as 
I  should  deem  most  fit.  Therefore  in  giving  it  this 
present  publicity  no  confidence  hath  been  betrayed. 

Hose  Cottage,  Jidams^  County^  Miss, 
January  17,  1838, 


0iQaj.yllk^J/ 


THE 


QUADROON  OF  ORLEANS 


A  TALE. 


22 


THE      QUADROON. 


I. 

The  last  solemn  peal  of  the  organ  ceased;  the  wor- 
shippers rose  from  the  pavement;  the  priest  descended 
from  the  altar;  the  candles  were  extinguished, and  the 
mass  for  that  day  was  over.  Slowly  the  dense  cloud 
passed  out,  and  silence  and  solitude  took  the  place  of 
the  murmur  of  the  late  worshipping  assembly. 

Two  persons  yet  remained.  One  of  these,  a  female, 
was  prostrate  before  an  image  of  the  virgin,  her  fore- 
head laid  against  the  marble  floor.  She  was  in  deep 
black,  and  a  rich  veil  fell  in  thick  folds  and  hid  her 
face,  which,  if  in  harmony  with  the  exquisite  symme- 
try of  her  figure,  could  not  be  less  than  beautiful.  A 
lovely  woman  kneeling  in  prayer,  is,  at  all  times,  an 
interesting  sight;  but  when  she  is  clothed  in  mourn- 
ing, (v/hich  gives  to  women  that  kind  of  effect,  which 
in  a  temple  is  produced  by  "  dim,  religious  light,") 
the  sight  is  peculiarly  touching,  and  not  unfreqnently 
is  vested  with  the  power  to  awaken  the  finest  emo- 
tions of  our  hearts,  and  make  even  the  sceptic  ask  of 
himself,  if  a  religion,  that  numb(!rs  among  its  votaries 
such  grace  and  beauty,  may  not  have  its  foundation 
in  truth? 


256  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

Such  at  least  were  the  thoughts  passing  through  the 
mmd  of  a  handsome  young  man  who  leaned  against 
a  pillar  not  far  off,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  kneeling 
devotee.  His  head  was  uncovered,  leaving  free 
masses  of  rich  brown  hair,  that  fell  to  his  shoulders.  A 
slight  mustache  curved  above  his  well-shaped  mouth. 
His  figure  was  tall;  his  brow  fair  and  open;  his  dress 
in  the  latest  foreign  fashion;  and  an  air  of  high  breed- 
ing, combined  with  a  certain  haughtiness  of  carriage, 
and  his  foreign  appearance,  marked  him  as  one  of  the 
French  nobles  who  had  fled  from  their  country  to 
escape  the  guillotine,  which  was  daily  drunk  with  the 
best  blood  of  France. 

II. 

Our  story  is  laid  in  New  Orleans  at  the  close  of  the 
year  1793.  The  city,  during  the  ascendancy  of  Ro- 
bespierre, became  the  refuge  of  many  of  the  oldest 
families  of  the  aiicien  regime.  The  young  Baron 
Championet  left  Paris  in  disguise,  just  five  minutes 
before  the  myrmidons  of  Robespierre  entered  his 
hotel.  The  ship  in  which  he  took  passage  at  Havre, 
arrived  at  the  levee  in  New  Orleans  as  the  bell  was 
ringing  for  mass.  Stepping  on  shore,  he  fell  gradually 
into  the  moving  current  of  people,  and  was  borne  to- 
wards the  Cathedral.  He  entered  it  with  the  rest — for 
he  bethought  him,  as  its  venerable  towers  met  his 
eye,  that  he  would  return  thanks  for  his  safe  passage. 
Eugenie  Championet  was  a  Roman  Catholic;  and  like 
all  of  hissect,heneverneglected  the  outwardsignsof  his 
faith,  whether  his  heart  was  religiously  disposed  or  not. 

In  company  with  half  a  dozen  others  of  every  hue 
and  degree,  the  young  baron  dipped  the  tip  of  his 
fingers  in  the  marble  vase  of  holy  water  by  the  stair- 
case; reverently  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  on  his  fore- 
head and  breast;  and  kneeling  among  slaves  and  arti- 
sans, maidens  and  matrons,  he  bowed  to  the  earth  as 


THE  QUADROON.  257 

the  Host  was  elevated,  and  mingling  his  own  with 
thousand  tongues,  worshipped  this  visible  presence  of 
the  Redeemer.  Having  disburthened  his  heart  of  its 
weight  of  gratitude,  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  gazed 
about  him.  Presently  an  object  nearer  the  altar  ar- 
rested and  fixed  his  eye.  ^^"ith  his  chapeaii  brus  be- 
neath his  arm,  and  pressing  his  sword  close  to  his  side 
to  avoid  entaiigUng  it  among  the  throng  of  scarfs, 
veils,  and  roquelaures,  he  slowly  edged  his  way  to  the 
upper  extren#ity  of  the  cathedral,  and  stopped  with 
his  eyes  resting  on  the  most  faultless  female  figure  he 
thought  he  had  ever  beheld.  His  practised  glauce  had 
singled,  her  out  from  her  station  near  the  door,  and 
although  he  passed  a  score  of  houris,  that  opened  their 
large  black  eyes,  and  were  ready  to  fall  in  love  with 
him,  he  took  not  his  eyes  from  her  he  sought  till  he 
came  where  she  stood.  Her  face  was  turned  from 
him,  and  her  fingers  clasped  a  prayer  book  on  which 
she  seemed  too  intent  to  look  up.  She  stood  so  close 
to  the  altar,  that,  without  subjecting  his  movements 
to  particular  observation,  if  not  remark,  he  was  una- 
ble to  get  a  siglu  of  her  features.  That  she  must  be 
very  lovely,  the  faultless  proportions  of  her  truly 
feminine  figure  gave  him  no  room  to  doubt. 

HI. 

The  services  closed  and  the  congregation  departed. 
The  lady  lingered  to  pray.  Doubtless  she  felt  more 
than  usually  penitent  that  morning.  As  the  echo  of  the 
last  footstep  died  away,  apparently  unconscious  of  ob- 
servation, she  closed  her  missal,  and  crossing  to  the 
shrine  of  Madonna,  fell  upon  her  knees  before  it.  The 
young  foreigner  softly  approached,  and  leaning  against 
a  pillar  within  a  few  feet  of  her,  with  his  soul  in  his 
eyes,  and  his  eyes  full  of  devotion,  continued  to  gaze 
upon  her.  Impatient  at  length  to  obtain  a  glimpse  of 
her  face,  he  noiselessly  approached  the  shrine  and  lin- 

22* 


258  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

gered  over  a  crypt,  under  a  pretence  of  deciphering 
the  letters  cut  into  the  marble  slab  laid  over  it.  The 
echo  of  his  step,  Ught  as  it  was,  reverberated  through 
the  vaulted  pile,  and  caught  her  ear.  She  lifted  her 
head  from  the  stone  floor,  the  veil  fell  back  from  her 
face,  and  the  eyes  of  the  two  met.  She  rose  in  con- 
fused surprise.  The  young  man  uttered  an  exclama- 
tion of  admiration  at  her  strange  and  extraordinary- 
beauty. 

She  was  very  litde  above  the  middle  height,  with  a 
strikingly  elegant  figure,  a  lofty  carriage,  a  superb 
neck  and  bust,  and  surpassing  symmetry  of  arm  and 
foot.  Her  age  could  not  have  been  more  than  eighteen. 
The  soft  olive  of  her  complexion  was  just  tinged  with 
the  rich  blood  beneath.  Her  profile  was  accurately 
Grecian,  her  lips  a  little  too  full,  perhaps,  but  her  finely 
shaped  mouth  lost  nothing  of  its  beauty  by  their  rich- 
ness. They  were  just  parted  in  her  surprise,  and  dis- 
played small  white  teeth;  not  that  glaring  ivory  white, 
which  is  so  much  admired  by  those  who  have  not  seen 
such  as  here  described,  but  of  the  liquid  lustre  of  pearls. 
Her  silken  eye-brows  were  penciled  in  perfect  arches 
over  large-orbed,  jet-black  eyes,  that  seemed  to  float 
in  lakes  of  liquid  languor.  They  were  exceedingly 
fine.  Human  eyes  could  not  be  finer.  But  there  was 
an  expression  in  them,  strange  and  indefinable;  beau- 
tiful yet  unpleasing,  as  if  a  serpent  had  been  looking 
through  the  eye  of  a  gazelle.  Dark  fires  burned  deep- 
ly within,  and  the  intensest  passion  there  slumbered. 
The  singular  expression  of  her  eyes  did  not  weaken 
their  effect  on  the  susceptible  temperament  of  the 
young  man,  although  he  gazed  into  them  with  sensa- 
tions such  as  woman's  eye  had  never  before  created 
in  his  bosom.  Her  raven  hair  was  gathered  behind, 
and  fell  in  rich  tresses  about  her  finely  shaped  head. 
She  wore  no  bonnet,  but  instead,  a  black  veil,  that  fell 
from  a  gold  comb  set  with  precious  stones,  down  to 


THE  QUADROOy.  259 

her  feet,  which  were  remarkable  for  their  small  size, 
high  instep,  and  symmetrical  shape. 

^s  she  encountered  the  ardent  gaze  of  the  young 
man,  the  rich  brown  hue  of  her  cheek,  became  richer 
with  the  mounting  blood.  Hastily  wrapping  her  veil 
about  her  head,  she  passed  him  with  a  stately,  undu- 
latins"  motion,  and  by  a  side  door,  hitherto  concealed 
by  a^curtain,  left  the  Cathedral,  though  not  without 
glancing  over  her  shoulder  ere  she  disappeared.  The 
baron  did  not  hesitate  to  follow  her.  With  a  peculiar 
ease  of  motion,  in  which  grace  and  dignity  were  femi- 
ninely blended,  she  slowly  moved  along  the  thronged 
trottoir  of  Chartres  street.*  The  style  of  her  face;  the 
perfection  of  her  person:  the  harmonious  concord  of 
every  movement:  the  queenly  carriage:  the  uncovered 
head:  the  basilisk  fascination  of  her  eyes,  were  all 
unlike  any  thing  he  had  ever  seen,  and  altogether  al- 
lured, bewildered,  and  captivated  him.  His  own  ele- 
gant person  attracted  the  eyes  of  many  a  lovely  woman 
as  he  passed  along,  but  he  had  no  eye  or  thought  for 
any  one  but  the  devotee  of  the  Cathedral.  He  lost 
not  si^ht  of  her,  initil  he  saw  her  enter,  in  one  of  the 
most  aristocratic  districts  of  the  city,  a  cottage-like  re- 
sidence, like  the  most  of  those  in  New  Orleans  at  that 
time,  adorned  with  verandahs,  half  buried  in  orange 
and  lemon  trees,  with  glass  doors  and  windows  to  the 
ground:  the  whole  thrown  open,  displaying  within 
apartments  furnished  with  oriental  magnificence.  The 
lady  elanced  one  of  her  fine  eyes  towards  him  from 
behind  her  fan,  as  she  stepped  up  the  verandah;  he 
laid  his  hand,  between  gallantry  and  sincerity,  upon 
his  heart,  in  acknowledgment,  impressed  the  dweUing 
on  liis  memory,  and  with  a  sigh  turned  away  to  seek 
a  hotel  and  deliver  his  letters. 


260  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 


IV. 


An  old  French  exile,  M.  Beranger,  to  whom  one  of 
his  letters  was  addressed,  could  not  call  on  the  Baron 
Championet,  but  sent  his  son,  a  gay  young  Creole,  to 
Avelcome  him  to  New  Orleans.  They  dined  together, 
were  soon  fast  friends.  Over  their  wine,  they  began 
to  converse,  as  young  men  will  do,  of  beautiful  women. 
The  baron  related  his  inkling  of  adventure  in  the  Ca- 
thedral, and  ended  with  declaring  himself  irrevocably 
in  love,  and  hinted  at  matrimony. 

His  friend  heard  him  through  with  composure,  and 
when  he  had  ended,  gave  way  to  uncontrollable  laugh- 
ter. The  baron  looked  both  surprised  and  oflended, 
when  yonng  Beranger,  composing  his  features,  said: 

"Dark  eyes,  arched  brows  like  satin,  olive  com- 
plexion, slightly  tainted  with  the  rose,  and  a  veil 
thrown  over  her  head." 

"You  repeat  my  words,  monsieur,"  said  the  baron, 
coldly. 

"  A  veil  only  you  are  sure?" 

"  A  black  lace  veil,  that  dropped  to  her  feet.  A  be- 
coming mode,  and  one  I  wish  to  see  take  the  place  of 
the  unsightly  bonnet  with  which  the  European  women 
choose  to  disfigure  their  heads." 

"  You  have  fallen  in  love  with  a  quadroon,  Cham- 
pionet." 

"  If  'quadroon'  be  American  for  angel,  by  the  mass ! 
you  say  truly!" 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Pardon  me,  my  dear  baron!  I  see  I 
must  initiate  you,  or  you  will  be  getting  into  more  of 
these  Cathedral  adventures  with  dark-eyed  devotees 
veiled  to  the  feet.  First  let  us  fill  a  bumper  to  your 
olive-browned  divinity." 

The  toast  was  drunk  with  mock  sentiment  by  the 
one,  and  with  genuine  gallantry  by  the  other. 


THE  QUADROON.  261 

"  Now,  my  dear  baron,"  began  the  gay  Creole,* 
"  you  must  know  that  there  is  among  us  a  class  of 
citizens  called  quadroons.  They  are  one-fourth  part 
African  blood." 

"Saint  Marie!  You  do  not  mean  to  say  that " 

"  Peace,  my  dear  Championet.  I  will  explain  this 
thing,  so  that  you  will  thank  me  for  the  Mahomedan 
paradise  my  words  shall  unfold  to  you.  The  descent 
and  blood  of  a  quadroon  is  as  follows:  The  offspring 
of  a  white  man  and  a  pure  negress,  is  what  we  call  a 
mvlaflo,  or  mulairessjaccorHins:  to  the  sex.  The  off- 
spring of  the  mulatto  and  pure  while  is  a  mufitizoe, 
pronounced  mustife,  and  in  this  class  I  have  seen  blue 
eyes  and  light  hair,  albeit  the  complexion  might  have 
been  somewhat  objectionable.  The  offspring  of  the 
mestizoe  and  a  pure  white,  is  termed  a  quadroon,  or 
quatreunej  being  four  parts  white,  with  one  part  (the 
blood  of  the  original  African  progenitor)  black.  By 
these  four  removes  the  African  blood  has  become 
nearly  extinct,  and  the  quadroon  shares  the  character- 
istic traits  common  to  the  European  race.  The  fifth 
and  sixth  removes  are  also  called  quadroons;  indeed 
the  term  is  applied  so  long  as  there  remains  the  least 
trace  of  the  slavish  blood.  By  the  sixth  generation, 
however,  it  entirely  disappears.  I  know  some  beau- 
tiful quadroons  in  the  fifth  descent,  who,  save'a  certain 
indescribable  expression  in  the  centre  of  the  pupils  of 
their  fine  eyes,  have  the  appearance  of  lovely  Italian 
women." 

"  This  singular  expression,"  interrupted  the  baron, 
"  struck  me  in  the  eyes  of  this  superb  creature. — What 
it  was  I  could  not  tell,  but  it  had  a  strange  effect  upon 
me." 

"  It  is  the  mark  of  the  quadroon  even  to  the  sixth 

*  Creole,  as  used  in  Louisiana,  has  no  other  meaning  than  the  word 
"native."  In  this  acceptation,  one  is  a  Creole  of  Pennsylvania,  or  of 
Maine,  who  is  a  native  of  either  of  those  States. 


f{ 


262  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

generation,  when  all  other  signs  of  her  African  de- 
scent are  lost.  I  have  tried  to  analyze  it,  but  like  the 
pecuUar  and  undefinable  expression  that  stamps  the 
Jewish  physiognomy,  it  defies  all  explanation  or  ana- 
lysis. We  often  speak  of  the  fine  e^^-e  of  a  spirited 
woman,  as  having  a  little  devil  in  it.  In  the  eye  of 
the  quadroon  there  lurks  the  devil,  but  it  is  a  wicked 
one.  I  do  not  mean  in  the  playful  sense  of  the  term, 
but  in  its  worst.  Yet  they  show  none  of  it  in  their  dis- 
positions. They  are  warm  hearted  and  full  of  passion, 
and  fire,  but  it  is  difficult  to  vousc  them  to  anger.  They 
are,  on  the  contrary,  universally  affectionate,  good-na- 
tured, and  remarkable  for  a  child-like  simplicity  of 
manners,  in  which  much  of  their  fascination  lies. 
These  quadroons  of  both  sexes  present,  perhaps,  the 
finest  specimens  of  the  human  race.  The  young  men 
are  perfect  ApoUos.  The  females — but  you  have  seen 
one  of  them,  and  can  judge  for  yourself.  Notwith- 
standing all  this,  such  is  the  prejudice  where  Africans 
are  held  as  slaves,  against  admitting  any  of  the  blood 
of  this  degraded  race  to  an  equality  with  ourselves, 
that,  however  accomplished  they  njay  be,  they  are  not 
only  interdicted  from  society,  but  the  law  against  the 
intermarriages  of  the  white  with  the  blacks,  extends 
eqiially  to  these.  Many  of  them  are  the  daughters 
of  gentleman  of  fortune,  who  lavish  money  on  them, 
rear  them  in  the  lap  of  luxury,  and  sometimes  send 
them  to  Paris  to  be  educated.  Abroad,  some  of  them 
have  married  rank  and  wealth.     Last  summer  I  met, 

driving  on  the  Prater  of  Vienna,  the  Countess , 

whom  I  knew  as  a  quadroon  in  this  city,  till  her  thir- 
teenth year,  when  her  father  sent  her  to  Paris,  where 
she  completed  her  education,  and  as  his  legitimate 

daughter    married    the    Count present   husband. 

She  is  called  the  most  handsome  woman  in  Austria. 

"  Prohibited  from  society  here,  and  debarred  mar- 
riage, (for  reared  and  educated  as  they  are,  of  course 
they  will  not  marry  the  young  quadroons,  who  are 


THE  QUADKOOX.  263 

lower  in  the  social  circles  than  even  themselves,  whose 
own  equivocal  elevation  is  owing  to  causes  easily  to  be 
divined,)  their  maternal  education  consists  in  adorning 
their  persons;  and,  by  their  still  lovely  mothers  they 
are  taught  to  regard  beauty  of  person  and  the  arts  of 
blandishment,  as  the  highest  qualifications  of  their 
sex,  and  to  look  forward  to  the  station  of  a  mis'tress 
with  the  same  hopes,  fears  and  sensations  that  a  vir- 
tuously educated  maiden  contemplates  that  of  wife. 
In  fact,  to  their  perverted  minds,  illicit  love  is  divested 
of  guilt,  and  is  connected  neither  with  shame  nor 
moral  degradation." 

*'But  the  fathers?  Have  they  no  voice  in  this  mat- 
ter?" 

"  In  this  climate  sixteen  or  seventeen  years,  when 
their  daughters  are  in  market,  (I  speak  plainly,)  make 
great  changes  in  regard  to  most  of  these. — Death, 
travel,  or  matrimony,  gives  the  quadroon  moiher, 
while  yet  young,  to  choose  another  protector  and  edu- 
cate her  daughter  as  she  pleases.  When  at  the  age  I 
have  mentioned,  the  mother,  who  has  kept  her  till 
now  in  great  seclusion,  begins  to  cast  about  for  a  pro- 
tector fo^  her.  She  allows  her  with  this  object  in  view, 
to  attend  balls  and  masquerades,  frequent  public 
walks,  and  go  to  mass,  but  always  attended  by  a  con- 
fidential slave,  or  herself  in  person;  while  her  eye  is 
ever  watchful, and  the  reins  of  maternal  vigilance  are 
drawn  with  careful  hand,  lest  the  daughter,  from  feel- 
ins,  should  torm  an  unprofitable  liaison.  It  Avill 
not  be  long  before  she  attracts  several  admirers,  ar.d 
proposals  are  made  in  due  form  to  the  quadroon  mo- 
ther—for the  system,  as  you  will  discover,  is  as  regu- 
larly organised  and  understood  here,  as  that  for  the^ 
buying  and  selling  Circassian  girls.  In  the  choice  of 
suitors,  three  things  are  especially  considered,  viz:  the 
wealth,  the  respectability  of  the  individual,  and  the 
inclinations  of  the  daugh'ter.  If  there  are  possessions 
on  her  side,  that  are  not  incompatible  with  the  other 


264  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

two  considerations,  her  wishes  decide  the  choice ;  for 
it  is  the  managing  mother's  desire,  not  only  to  get  her 
daughter  well  esiahlished,  but  established  happily  also. 
When  the  suitor  is  fixed  upon,  the  others  are  notified 
that  Mademoiselle  is  not  at  liberty  to  form  engage- 
ments. Then  come  the  preliminary  settlements,  pre- 
viously agreed  upon,  between  buyer  and  seller.  Some 
of  these  scenes,  were  it  not  for  the  moral  degradation 
with  which  they  are  associated,  I  doubt  not,  would  be 
extremely  amusing.  The  two  are  closeted  together 
witl»  pen,  ink  and  paper.  The  mother,  who  lias  tlie 
conditions  drawn  upon  a  piece  of  paper  she  holds  in 
her  hand,  insists  on  a  house  containing  a  certain  num- 
ber of  rooms,  richly  furnished,  particularises  each  arti- 
cle of  their  furniture,  demands  a  certain  number  of 
servants;  bargains  for  a  specific  sum  to  be  paid  quar- 
terly to  her  daughter  for  pin-money,  and  insists  that 
she  shall  be  indulged  in  all  the  expensive  luxuries  of 
her  class;  many  other  things  besides  are  agreed  upon, 
depending  mostly  on  the  taste,  ambition  and  high 
notions  oY  the  quadroon  mother.  In  her  care  for 
her  daughter,  she  does  not  neglect  her  own  interests, 
but  bargains  for  a  present  in  hand  for  her  own  part, 
such  as  an  expensive  shawl,  a  costly  veil,  a  set  of 
jewels,  or  something  of  that  sort.  The  suitor  agreeing 
to  all  this,  pays  a  certain  sum  down,  often  so  high  as 
two  thousand  dollars,  and  seldom  less  than  one  thou- 
sand, and  receives  his  unmarried  but  virgin  bride. 
From  that  time  he  openly  lives  with  her,  if  unmarried, 
save  dining  at  the  hotels.— If  he  is  a  married  man,  he 
is  more  cautious.  The  quadroon  mothers  usually  pre- 
fer the  latter  class,  as  promising,  their  daughters  a  more 
stable  and  permanent  life,  than  it  would  be  likely  to 
be,  dependent  on  the  roving  caprice  of  a  young  bache- 
lor. Hundreds  of  young  gentlemen,  and  I  know  not 
how  many  with  hymenial  ties,  live  in  this  way  in  this 
city." 

««  A  singular  state  of  society.'^ 


THE  QUADROON.  265 

"  Yes;  and  this  facility  of  thiogs  is  why  we  are  such 
a  community  of  bachelors." 

"Are  these  quadroons  faithful?" 

"  There  has  never  been  known  among  them  a  single 
instance  to  the  contrar^\  Indeed,  then:  attachment  in 
these  cases  is  proverbial." 

The  young  man  balanced  his  wine  glass  on  his  fore- 
finger, and  mused  awliile;  then  abruptly  speaking  he 
said." 

"  Do  you  think  the  lovely  creature  I  saw  this  morn- 
ing is  one  of  this  class?" 

His  countenance  was  so  expressive  of  mingled  doubt 
and  hope  as  he  waited  for  a  reply,  that  the  lively  Creole 
smiled  as  he  answered. 

"  Yes.  Her  veil  marks  her,  if  nothing  more. — Quad- 
roons alone  wear  veils.  Why,  I  know  not,  unless  bon- 
nets are  prohibited  to  this  class  as  well  as  to  the  slaves, 
which  I  believe  is  the  case,  but  whether  by  the  muni- 
cipal law,  or  the  stronger  one  of  public  opinion, 
I  am  not  prepared  to  say.  The  extraordinary  beauty 
of  many  of  these  women  has  been  noised  abroad,  and 
if  common  fame  speaks  the  truth,  has  been  the  sub- 
ject of  convivial  conversation  even  with  one  or  two 
of  the  princes  of  the  royal  family  who  have  been 
here.  Apropos,  I  could  tell  a  tale  here  if  I  would. 
But  another  time." 

"  It  is  strange,"  said  the  baron,  thoughtfully,  "  that 
a  trait  scarcely  discernible,  except  to  the  initiated, 
should  shut  them  out  of  society." 

"  The  cause,  if  we  look  closely  into  the  subject,  does 
not  lie  so  much  in  the  drop  of  African  blood  in  their 
veins,  as  the  fact  that  they  are  descended,  at  least  on 
one  side,  from  slaves.  Indeed,  many  quadroons  are 
really  slaves,  whose  maternal  ancestors  have  been  for 
generations  in  the  same  family.  If  the  mother  be  a 
slave,  say  our  laws,  so  is  the  otfspring,  no  matter  what 
its  hue  may  be.  A  prejudice  so  deeply  fomided  as 
that  against  slavish  blood,  will  forever  resist  reason. 
23 


266  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

It  is  true  the  quadroons  are  its  victims.  Its  tendency, 
doubtless,  is  to  preserve  the  purity  of  society,  but  I  do 
not  know  if  its  effects  are  not  more  than  balanced  by 
the  laxity  of  morals  it  originates  and  fosters.  But  a 
truce  to  this  prosing.  It  is  now  near  sunset,  and  the 
population  is  all  out  of  doors  to  enjoy  the  cool  of  the 
evening.  If  we  walk  in  the  direction  of  the  dwelling 
of  your  inamorata,  we  shall  find  her  no  doubt  in  the 
verandah.  I  think,  from  your  glowing  description  of 
her,  I  can  divine  who  she  is.  If  it  is  Emilie,  as  I  be- 
lieve, she  is  a  prize  worth  winning  and  wearing." 


The  young  gentlemen  sallied  forth  together,  and  arm 
in  arm  lounged  carelessly  along  the  street  towards  the 
abode  of  the  devotee.  It  was  near  sunset,  and  the 
doors,  balconies  and  verandahs  of  that  gay  city  were 
animated  with  cheerful  people,  and  brilliant  with 
beauty.  Families  were  gathered  in  their  own  doors 
or  about  a  neighbor's,  standing  or  sitting  in  groups 
gossiping  and  taking  the  air.  Young,  bonnetless  girls 
laughed  and  talked  with  one  another  across  the  street, 
or  smiled  at  passing  beaux.  Children  every  where 
played  up  and  down  the  side  walks;  the  artisan,  his 
apron  thrown  aside,  sat  in  his  open  shop  window  and 
smoked  his  cigar,  or  chatted  with  a  neighbor:  all  was 
cheerfulness,  hilarity  and  content.  One  would  have 
thought  there  was  not  in  the  whole  town  a  sad  heart. 

Beranger  bowed  to  nearly  every  other  pretty  woman 
he  saw  in  the  overhanging  balconies,  while  his  elegant 
companion  drew  after  him  many  a  dark  eye,  and 
caused  many  an  inquiry  to  be  passed  along  the  galaxy 
of  beauty,  of  who  might  be  the  handsome  cavalier. 

They  arrived  at  Rue  de ,  and  Championet 

pointed  to  the  residence  of  the  devotee. 

<•  'Tis  Emilie!"  cried  the  other.     "  She  is  scarcely 


THE  QUADROON.  267 

seventeen,  and  though  'tis  not  two  months  since  she 
made  her  first  appearance  in  public,  she  has  aheady 
had  half  New -Orleans  at  her  feet.  But  her  mother, 
deviating  from  the  usual  mode,  has  left  her  to  her  own 
choice,  of  course  subject  to  her  sanction.  So  the  lovely 
quadroon  will  not  sell  her  person  sav^e  to  the  bold 
cavalier  who  shall  first  steal  her  heart.  Courage,  mon 
ami !  From  what  you  have  told  me,  you  have  already 
made  an  impression.  You  are  a  stranger  here,  and 
women,  if  you  have  noticed,  always  like  strangers." 
The  young  gentlemen  approached  the  elegant  resi- 
dence of  the  fair  quadroon,  and  in  one  month  after- 
wards the  gay  baron  Championet  boasted  the  finest 
estabUshment  and  the  lovliest  mistress  in  New-Orleans. 


VI. 

The  death  of  Robespierre,  by  the  guillotine,  July 
28,  1794,  was  the  signal  for  the  return  of  the  French 
exiles.  The  Baron  Championet,  settling  upon  Emilie 
a  noble  income,  took  passage  for  France,  promising, 
so  soon  as  he  should  arrange  his  effects,  to  send  for 
her.  Absence  is  like  the  waters  of  Lethe,  to  most 
men.  The  stirring  times  he  encountered  on  his  return 
to  France,  left  him  little  time  for  love  and  dalliance. 
He  recovered  his  confiscated  estates,  entered  the  army, 
rose  rapidly  to  distinction,  and  in  twelve  months 
Emilie  was' forgotten.  He  became  suitor  for  the  hand 
of  the  only  daughter  of  a  neighboring  noble,  whose 
broad  lands  seemed  only  wanting  to  make  his  own 
patrimony  a  princely  domain,  and,  as  in  New-Orleans 
he  had  loved  for  love's  sake,  so  in  France  he  married 
for  mammon's  sake.  A  son  was  the  fruit  of  the  politic 
union.  The  baron,  now  General  Championet,  fol- 
lowed Bonaparte  in  most  of  his  wars,  and  his  thoughts 
never  wandered  to  the  lovely  quadroon,  save  when 


26S  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

some  dark  eyed  Italian  in  his  southern  campaigns, 
forcibly  recalled  her  to  his  mind. 


VII. 

A  few  months  after  the  departure  of  the  baron, 
Emilie  gave  birth  to  a  daughter.  During  the  long 
period  of  his  intimacy  with  the  beautiful  quadroon, 
he  had  taken  pleasure  in  storing  her  mind  with  the 
nobler  branches  of  literature,  and  elevating  the  stand- 
ard of  her  intellect.  He  taught  her  to  reason  and  to 
reflect.  After  his  departure,  reason  and  reflection  be- 
came to  her  the  tree  of  the  knowledge  of  good  and 
evil.  For  the  first  time  she  began  to  view  in  its  true 
light  her  moral  and  social  degradation.  She  loathed 
herself,  and  passed  hours  in  unavailing  tears.  She 
was  proud,  and  her  pride  was  humbled,  her  spirit 
broken.  One  evening  she  veiled  herself,  and  went  to 
the  Cathedral.  Kneeling  on  the  spot  where  she  had 
first  seen  the  young  foreigner,  she  made  a  solemn  vow 
to  the  Virgin,  "  that  her  daughter  should  never  know 
her  mother's  degradation  nor  the  race  from  which  she 
herself  had  sprung.''  She  rose  and  returned  home 
with  a  lighter  heart  and  a  firm  purpose. 

When  the  little  Louisa  was  in  her  fifth  year,  she 
left  New  Orleans,  where  the  fulfilment  of  her  vow 
would  have  been  impossible,  and  went  to  the  Havan- 
na;  from  whence  she  took  passage  to  JNIarseilles,  and 
then  proceeded  to  Paris.  Here  as  Madame  D'Avigny, 
and  representing  herself  as  the  widow  of  a  West 
India  planter,  she  took  up  her  abode,  and  pursued  the 
education  of  her  daughter.  Her  income  was  great, 
and  the  style  of  her  establishment  had  scarcely  a  rival 
in  Paris.  She  gave  soirees,  was  courted,  and  when, 
at  the  age  of  nineteen,  Louise  came  out,  a  new  star  in 
the  constellation  of  fashion,  the  saloons  of  Madame 
D'Avigny  were  among  the  most  thronged  and  cele- 


THE  QUADROON.  269 

brated  in  Paris.  The  beauty  of  Louise  now  became 
the  universal  theme,  and  in  all  public  places  she  was 
the  "cynosure  of  all  eyes." 


VIII. 

One  morning  shortly  after  the  introduction  of  the 
lovely  quadroon  into  the  fashionable  world  of  Paris,  a 
noble  looking  and  extremely  handsome  young  man, 
not  more  than  twenty  one  years  of  age,  was  idly  pro- 
menading one  of  the  less  frequented"  streets  of  Paris, 
when  his  attention  was  drawn  to  an  elegant  and  well 
appointed  equipage  that  stopped  just"  before  him., 
not  far  from  the  door  of  the  cathedral— Two  ladies 
descended  from  it  and  approached  the  church,  to 
which  the  obstruction  of  a  line  of  carriages  lining  the 
pave  prevented  the  coachman  from  coming  closer. 
One  of  them  was  an  elegant  shaped  woman,  who 
moved  with  the  slow  and  stately  measure  becoming 
a  queen.  By  her  side  moved  a  less  stately  figure,  but 
what  was  lost  in  dignity  was  made  up  in  grace  and 
feminine  delicacy.  Her  undulating  movement,  as  she 
gently  stepped  along,  was  the  poetry  of  motion.  Her 
feet  were  the  neatest,  and  prettiest,  and  smallest  in 
the  world,  and  they  left  the  pavement  and  lighted 
upon  it  again  with  the  lightness  of  a  bird.  The  young 
man  quickened  his  pace  and  passed  them.  The  face 
that  met  his  gaze,  as  he  turned  round  at  the  door  of 
the  church,  was  wonderfully  fair.  He  thought  he  had 
not  seen  its  equal  for  that  soft  and  dreamy" loveliness 
which  is  usually  found  in  the  climes  of  the  south. 
Her  large  black  eyes,  as  she  lifted  them  to  the  face  of 
the  elegant  young  man,  seemed  to  him  Hke  fountains 
of  love,  with  which  her  heart,  like  a  deep  well,  was 
full.  The  moulded  bust,  the  rounded  waist,  the  su- 
perbly feminine  figure,  the  shapely  foot  and  hand,  the 
faultless  neck  and  stag-like  carriage  of  the  fine  head; 


270  THE  AMERICAN  LOUNGER. 

the  indolent  grace  of  every  motion  from  the  gUding 
curve  of  each  swimming  step,  to  the  fall  of  tlie  fringed 
hd,  filled  his  soul  with  those  delightful  but  indescriba- 
ble sensations  which  are  the  incipient  workings  of 
youthful  love.  Aside  from  the  charms  of  her  person, 
there  was  about  her  a  something  which  strangely 
drew  his  heart  to  hers.  The  emotion  was  mutual; 
for,  as  she  passed  him  to  enter  the  cathedral,  her  eye 
lingered  on  his  face  with  singular  interest. 

The  appearance  of  her  companion  Avas  very  little 
less  striking,  thougli  she  must  have  been  thirty-five 
years  of  age.  The  full-blown  rose  was  the  emblem 
of  the  one;  the  half-open  bud  of  the  other.  From 
their  surprising  resemblance  to  each  other,  they  were 
mother  and  daughter. 

They  advanced  to  a  distant  part  of  the  cathedral, 
and  kneeled  at  diff'erent  shrines.  The  young  man, 
who  followed  them  into  the  church,  approached  the 
shrine  where  the  younger  kneeled,  and  with  a  singu- 
lar union  of  boldness  and  timidity,  and  assuming  a 
look  of  playful  submission  that  disarmed  reproof  ere 
it  rose  to  the  lip,  he  knelt  beside  her.  She  started, 
turned,  and  would  have  risen  to  move  away  from  the 
daring  intruder,  but  the  respectful  yet  tender  expres- 
sion of  his  fine  eyes,  the  elegance  of  his  person,  his 
becoming  humility,  all  pleaded  in  his  favor.  With  his 
hand  laid  on  his  heart,  he  awaited  her  decision.  The 
silent  eloquence  of  his  manner  prevailed.  She  smiled, 
dropped  her  eyes,  and  opened  her  missal.  Her  trans- 
parent fingers  trembled  with  agitation;  the  gilt  leaves 
fluttered,  and  the  book  fell  from  her  hands.  The 
young  stranger  arrested  it  ere  it  reached  the  pavement; 
and,  opening  it,  returned  it  to  her  with  his  finger  on 
this  passage: — 

^'  Give  ear  unto  me;  my  soul  hangeth  upon  thee. 
I  will  love  thee  all  the  days  of  my  life.  Incline  thine 
ear  unto  my  calling.'^ 


THE  QUADROON.  271 

The  maiden  read  it;  raised  her  full  dark  eyes,  and 
smiled,  while,  with  a  mantling  cheek,  she  placed  a 
finger  carelessly  on  a  passage.  He  caught  it  from  her 
hand,  and  read',  with  eyes  that  sparkled  with  delight, 
the  following  verse: — 

"  1  will  dwell  in  thy  tabernacle  for  ever;  and  my 
trust  shall  be  under  the  shadow  of  thy  w4ngs." 

He  seized  and  pressed  her  hand  to  his  heart,  then  to 
his  lips,  and  thus  in  one  minute  was  consummated  an 
affection  which  contained  all  the  elements  of  genuine 
love;  which  some  people  think  takes  a  year  to  grow, 
when  every  body  knows  it  is  a  plant  that,  like  Jonah's 
gourd,  springs  up  in  one  night. 

With  the  "material  before  one,  enough  to  fill  two 
volumes,  it  is  difficult  to  write  a  mere  sketch.  We 
must  therefore,  to  keep  within  any  bound,  leave  a 
great  deal  of  the  iiUing  up  of  our  story  to  the  imagi- 
nations of  our  readers;  to  which,  to  begin  with,  we 
shall  leave  the  remainder  of  the  scene  in  the  Cathe- 
dral, telling  them,  however,  what  doubtless  they  have 
already  guessed,  that  the  elder  lady  was  Emilie,  the 
quadroon,  or  as  she  was  known  in  Paris,  INIadame 
D'Avigny,  and  the  younger  daughter,  the  lovely  and 
widely  famed  Louise. 


IX. 

Two  months  had  not  passed  after  the  love  passage 
in  the  Cathedral,  when  all  Paris  knew  that  the  West 
India  beauty,  Louise  D'Avigny,  was  to  be  led  to  the 
altar  by  a  scion  of  one  of  the  oldest  houses  in  France, 
the  young  Baron  Caronde. 

The  day  of  the  nuptials  arrived,  and  before  the  altar 
of  the  same  Cathedral  which  had  witnessed  the  first 
meeting,  the  lovers  stood  surrounded  by  their  friends, 
prepared  to  enter  into  the  marriage  covenant. 


272  THE  AMERICAN-  LOUNGER. 

The  father  of  the  bridegroom  had  been  expected 
from  the  army,  where  he  was  in  command,  to  honor 
the  ceremony  v/ith  his  presence;  bnt  the  rites  could 
not  longer  be  delayed,  and  the  priest  opened  his  book, 
and,  after  the  imposing  forms  of  the  Romish  church, 
the  marriage  was  solemnized. 

Emilie  embraced  her  daughter.  Her  vow  had  been 
fulfilled.  Her  triumph  was  complete.  x\t  this  mo- 
ment an  officer  of  high  rank  entered  the  Cathedral, 
and  hastily  approached  the  star.  It  was  the  Baron 
Championet,  now  INIarquis  of  Caronde.  He  embraced 
his  son,  and  was  presented  to  the  bride.  He  started 
with  an  exclamation  of  surprise.  But  as  he  directly 
recovered  himself,  and  tenderly  embraced  her,  his  emo- 
tion was  supposed  by  the  bystanders  to  have  been 
caused  by  her  extreme  beauty.  His  son  next  present- 
ed Madame  D'Avigny,  or,  as  we  better  know  her, 
Emilie,  who  had  been  sur^^eying  his  features  between 
doubt  and  eager  curiosity.  He  advanced  to  take  her 
hand,  when,  fixing  his  eyes  on  her  still  beautiful  face, 
he  recognized  her. 

^•Emilie!" 

"Championet'.-' 

"  Speak,"  he  cried,  looking  at  Louise,  "  is  she " 

"  Your  daughter.     But,  tell  me !  he !  is  he " 

"My  son!"^ 

A  wild  shriek  filled  the  temple,  and  Emilie  fell  on 
the  marble  floor,  and  the  blood  gushed  from  her  tem- 
ples at  the  feet  of  the  Baron  Championet. 

The  surprise  and  horror  of  those  around  was  raised 
to  a  feverish  degree  of  excitement  and  curiosity.  But 
Emilie  never  spoke  again,  and  the  baron  kept  the  se- 
cret locked  up  in  his  own  breast. 

Louise  was  removed  to  a  convent,  and  in  a  few 
months  died  of  a  broken  heart.  Her  husband  and 
brother  threw  his  life  away  shortly  after  in  battle. 

Such  is  the  end  of  characters  who  reallv  existed, 


THJE  QUADROON.  273 

and  the  sad  conclusion  of  a  story  founded  on  actual 
occurrence.  It  has  been  written  to  illustrate,  in  some 
degree,  a  state  of  society  which  once  existed  in  New 
Orleans,  many  of  the  most  prominent  features  of 
which  are  still  retained. 


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